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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251431">Back From the Future</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixqueen/pseuds/phoenixqueen'>phoenixqueen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Rewrite, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Good versus Evil, Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances, Slow Burn, Time Travel Fix-It</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>60,632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixqueen/pseuds/phoenixqueen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Oscar and Oz are captured by the Hound and brought to Salem.  After being interrogated by Hazel, and refusing to give up information on the Beacon Relic or the Lamp, Oscar begins to wonder what will happen to him when Salem gets tired of his refusal to answer her questions.  Oz begins to worry for his young partner and wants to get him to safety.  In a desperate gamble, Oz draws on his remaining magic to try to protect Oscar - but when mingled with Salem's magic... something unexpected results.</p><p>Two years previously, Professor Ozpin is quietly working in his office when he receives an unexpected visitor - a badly wounded boy.  But this boy has an incredible story and a chance to do what Ozpin has thus far been unable to accomplish - complete his mission from the God of Light - if he can convince Ozpin and his inner circle to believe him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blake Belladonna / Sun Wukong, Jaune Arc / Pyrrha Nikos, Ozma / Salem (past), Ozpin &amp; Oscar Pine, Ruby Rose / Oscar Pine, Taiyang Xiao-Long / Raven Branwen (past), Taiyang Xiao-Long / Summer Rose (past), Team JNPR - Relationship, Team RWBY &amp; Team JNPR &amp; Oscar Pine, Team RWBY - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>320</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. When Magic Collides</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24425746">Soul of Love and Bravery</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSnowdapple/pseuds/ShadowSnowdapple">ShadowSnowdapple</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068010">Defining a Life: Scars on the Soul</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorandImage/pseuds/MirrorandImage">MirrorandImage</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477410">Who You Will See, There in the Darkness</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorandImage/pseuds/MirrorandImage">MirrorandImage</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600896">Rescue Me</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyInferno/pseuds/TrashyInferno">TrashyInferno</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918573">Lost Parallax</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nunonon/pseuds/Nunonon">Nunonon</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Oz’s deep disappointment, Mantle was… not what it had once been.  In the wake of the Great War, the northernmost kingdom had had its share of troubles: the loss of so many lives on the battlefields, the increasing levels of fear which had only attracted Grimm, the food and Dust rationing…  All of it proved that the whole reason for the war had been pointless to start with.  It was one of the reasons why his last incarnation before becoming Ozpin had come up with the idea of lifting the new city of Atlas into the sky, once it had become apparent that Atlas could thrive where Mantle was beginning to fail.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘A home in the clouds is about as bright as it gets’</em>.  Thanks to Oscar’s recent memories, Oz could remember Maria saying that upon their arrival in the Kingdom.  She hadn’t been wrong, but clearly over the intervening years, things hadn’t gone the way that he had planned when he had been Ozora, the inventor who had proposed raising Atlas high as a sign that the Kingdom was going to endure, despite losing the Great War.</p><p> </p><p>But now…</p><p> </p><p>“It should not be this hard just getting people to cooperate,” Oscar muttered from where he was steering the hoverbike, guarding the rear of the group.</p><p> </p><p><em>And yet, it is something that I am becoming increasingly concerned about,</em> Oz replied softly, carefully.  He knew he was still on thin ice where Oscar was concerned, but they needed to start rebuilding their relationship moving forward.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, I <em>really</em> don’t need your additional commentary right now.”  Oscar’s tone was depressed, and more than a little bitter when he replied.</p><p> </p><p><em>You all have every right to be upset, especially you, Oscar,</em> Oz said.  He had made so many mistakes over his many lives, and with the benefit of hindsight, he regretted every single one of them.  But by far the worst mistake he had made in recent memory was running away into a self-imposed exile once his students had confronted him that day in the snow.  He had abandoned all of them at what was possibly the worst time ever, and he knew that it would take time to regain Oscar’s trust – assuming that he even could.</p><p> </p><p>After realizing <em>exactly</em> what the nature of his ability to reincarnate meant, there had been more than one lifetime when he’d viciously cursed the God of Light for offering this to him, especially after a significant defeat or loss.  Over time, however, the number of lives that he’d spent mourning his fate had decreased and his mindset had changed to one of weary resignation – all he could do was accept whatever role he found himself in with each new incarnation and move forward.  But when he had realized that his most recent partner was a <em>child</em>… never had he wanted to curse the Brothers more.  A <em>child</em> had no business getting involved in this shadow war, and now the Brothers had thrown Oscar into something he was wholly unprepared for.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry I left you.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m not upset that you <em>left</em>.  I’m upset that you came <em>back</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>That… hurt.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, there had been times in the past when his partners had despised him for upending their lives, even though he had no control over who he bonded with.  Over time, usually, that derision and anger tended to fade as their souls slowly merged and his partners came to understand the gravity of the situation and the war that he was fighting.  In those cases, Oz would simply remain quiet and dormant, interfering as little as possible unless his partner specifically spoke to him, giving them time to accept what had happened.</p><p> </p><p>But then… he had never had a partner like Oscar – a confused <em>child</em> who had uprooted his entire existence to follow the instructions of a disembodied voice in his head, only to be – from his perspective – abandoned as soon as things started to get difficult.</p><p> </p><p>“I started to feel like <em>me</em>.  Not the same me I was before all of this… but the me I always <em>wanted</em> to be.  I felt… like I was actually part of the team, and not just a tagalong whose only value was being your host.”</p><p> </p><p><em>I understand</em>.  And <em>oh</em>, did he understand Oscar’s feelings, even without the bond between them that allowed them to feel what the other was feeling.  But how to explain that to him?  The hardest part of acclimating to a new life, a new <em>partner</em> was knowing what to say and when to say it.  <em>But even though it may not have <strong>felt</strong> like I was with you, I was never truly gone.  You’re gaining control of my remaining magic, recollecting my longest-held memories.  Which means…</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He didn’t want to say it.  Oscar had made his views on the matter perfectly clear since the first moment that Oz had spoken to him.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Which means our two souls are still on the… inevitable</em>…<em>path to becoming one.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“But… I don’t <em>want</em> that.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Neither do I.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It was the simple truth, after all.  If he’d had <em>any</em> control over whom he bonded with when he entered a new incarnation, he <em>wouldn’t</em> have chosen Oscar.  Not because Oscar wasn’t valuable or a worthy soul – he <em>was</em> – but because of his age.</p><p> </p><p><em>We need to find a way to work together.  Not just the two of us… <strong>all</strong> of us.  </em>He paused for a moment, thinking about how to word what he needed to say.  <em>Oscar… I know that this hasn’t been easy for you since we were first bound together.  Please know that there are so many things I wish I had done differently since that moment.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar was quiet for so long that Oz would have held his breath if he’d still had a body that could breathe without requiring him to take control of his partner’s.  “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I have lived so many different lives, Oscar.  I’ve been rich, poor, and middle-class.  I’ve been a King and a slave, a Faunus and a human.  I’ve married and had children, and I’ve lived alone as a veritable hermit.  But in all of my many incarnations, I have never been paired with someone who wasn’t already an adult.  You are the youngest partner I’ve ever had.  Before you, Ozpin was the youngest person I had ever paired with, and he was twenty the first time I spoke with him.  I <strong>don’t</strong> know why the Brothers chose you, now, at this time.  I wish I did.  I wish I had some say in the matter of my reincarnations – but that is the nature of a curse, I suppose.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“That doesn’t explain anything about what you would have done differently,” Oscar’s tone was still slightly bitter.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I… if I could go back and know the events that would bring us to this point, I would have trusted you more.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar’s breath caught a little.  “W-what?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’ve lived for thousands of years, Oscar, and lived every kind of life you can imagine.  Until you, I had come to accept that whatever I became in my next incarnation… <strong>whomever</strong> I was paired with… had been chosen for me for a reason.  Perfect memory seems to be an aspect of my curse that I wish I didn’t have.  At will, I can remember any moment from any of those lives that I choose to.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“What does that have to do with me?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Until you, I had always been content to learn about my new life and my new partner and allow events to play out as they may and continue my work to stop Salem no matter what role I found myself in.  I… I rushed with you.  I am <strong>certain</strong> that Beacon’s fall could have been prevented if I had had the right information, made the right decisions.  Losing control of the Fall Maiden’s powers to one of Salem’s minions, the destruction of the CCTS tower at Beacon – those were dangerous plays of a type that Salem has never made before, and I didn’t take the time I should have to ease you into things and allow you to make up your own mind, free of any pressure from me.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I still don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I said that I have perfect memory of all of my past lives – and you will too, one day.  It is hard enough dealing with those memories myself… the last thing that I wanted to do was burden a child with them – the battles I’ve fought, the loved ones I’ve seen die in my arms at Salem’s hands, the many, <strong>many</strong>, times that she has killed me, watching everything I’ve built and loved being torn down around me…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Please don’t misunderstand… there have been good memories as well.  Memories of my wives and children around me.  Quiet dinners with trusted friends and allies, waking in the pre-morning hours to watch a Vacuo sunrise… the satisfaction of accomplishment when a long-term project has come to completion…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar was still silent, clearly thinking about his words.  Tentatively, Oz pushed forward a little more.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I always intended to share everything with you, Oscar.  I couldn’t have avoided it, since you will eventually have these memories no matter what I do.  But… you were already so frightened and anxious about leaving your farm, about my presence in your mind.  I wanted to protect you as much as I could, to try to ease you into things.  That is what I usually do with my partners, but… well, Salem’s attack on Beacon forced my hand.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I wasn’t hiding things from you, Team RWBY, and Qrow because I was being cruel.  I was hiding them because they were painful, and most of you are still children.  I <strong>never</strong> wanted to get children involved in my war with Salem.  All of you – even Qrow to an extent, despite the things he’s done in my service – are still so innocent.  You didn’t need to bear my burdens yet.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“But it was still lying to us,” Oscar whispered.  “You were still keeping back information that we should have had.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes, I was – because I care about all of you.  All of you are still young enough to see hope in all situations… to believe that even in the darkest moments, good can still triumph over evil.  I’m so much older than you, and I know truths that none of you were ready to comprehend.  Sometimes the darkness wins, and people die.  Sometimes the only thing that the light can do is delay the darkness for a while.  I’ve been locked in a stalemate with Salem for <strong>millennia</strong> – can you honestly tell me that you were ready to know the sordid details of my past?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I… I don’t know,” Oscar admitted quietly.  He fell silent, lost in his own thoughts, and Oz let him be, making a conscious effort not to eavesdrop on the boy’s thoughts.  Rebuilding the trust that had been broken between them was going to take more time and effort than a single conversation could fix.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Oscar was <em>tired</em>.  It had been so long since he’d gotten any rest, but with Salem’s forces waiting just outside the Kingdom’s walls, the only thing that they could do was keep pushing forward, trying to save as many of the people of Mantle as they could.  The last thing he wanted to think about was Oz and the pending soul merger with the old wizard.</p><p> </p><p>But at the same time, thinking about the things that Oz had said was better than dwelling on the fact that the General had <em>shot</em> him, or about the fact that Salem had a significant advantage over them, or that her plans thus far had worked perfectly.  Yes, they’d thwarted her at Haven, but she had succeeded at Beacon, and right now it seemed as if she were on track to win in Atlas as well.</p><p> </p><p>It was easier to be mad at Oz, to blame him for the situation that they found themselves in, than to admit that he was scared.  He was only fifteen years old, and he had found himself thrust into a war that he hadn’t even known existed, all because of some kind of divine or cosmic destiny that he didn’t even believe in.  There wasn’t time for gods or religion when he had been on the farm with his aunt – just tending to the animals and their small fields of crops, making sure that they produced enough to get by year after year.  They couldn’t hope for huge harvests when it was just Oscar and Aunt Em to tend to everything, after all.</p><p> </p><p>But even more than Salem, even more than the idea of the gods coming back to judge humanity, the thing that scared him most was Oz.  Not the man – soul? – himself, of course.  Oz had been nothing but kind and patient with him, and the only time he’d ever done anything explicitly against Oscar’s wishes had been during the battle of Haven, when he’d forcefully taken control to fight Hazel.  It was the idea that they were merging – that they were going to become one.  More than anything, Oscar feared being <em>erased</em> – no longer being <em>himself</em>, his personality subsumed under the more powerful, dominating personality that was Oz.  The wizard had tried to explain it, but nothing he had said had really helped Oscar to understand what was going to happen, and he’d been too afraid to discuss it with Oz, because he’d always had the sense that Oz was hiding something from him where the merger was concerned.</p><p> </p><p>Now, having seen Jinn’s vision and learning about Oz’s past, he was beginning to question that assumption.  Had Oz been hiding something about the merger, or had he simply been hiding his past to try to <em>protect</em> Oscar?  It was hard to tell – Oz was exceptionally good at keeping control of his thoughts and feelings the majority of the time.  The only time his feelings had slipped had been that day in the snow when, verbally and emotionally assaulted on all sides by RWBY, his stress levels had been pushed to their breaking point and Oscar had gotten that tiny glimpse of the truth about Jinn and the lamp.  But even he hadn’t known what Jinn would reveal when Ruby had asked that damning question.</p><p> </p><p>The months that he had spent with Oz locked away in his own mind, slowly watching the General fall apart – the daily training sessions to try to “bring Oz back”, being told over and over again that it was <em>Ozpin’s</em> advice that Ironwood wanted – none of that had given Oscar a great opinion of his own self-worth with the General, even though teams RWBY and JNR had embraced him as one of them once they had a chance to get past their anger with Oz.  But now that Oz was back – would that change?  Would Oz be welcome, or would the fact that he had returned from his exile only make Oscar a pariah with the group again?</p><p> </p><p>He knew Oz was right – the two of them would have to find a way to work together in harmony, and soon.  Salem was making her move, and she wouldn’t retreat without a long, hard fight.  It was possible that Oz was the only one who stood a chance of finding a way to push her back again, and he wouldn’t be able to work effectively if he were at odds with everyone.  But before he could try to make amends with the rest of their group, he and Oscar would have to make amends with each other – to convince Ruby and the others to give Oz a chance, they would have to be united in purpose, or they would only end up undercutting each other.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Despite the grumbling of the citizens that they were helping, they successfully managed to escort them all safely to the crater, thanks to the combination of Mr. Arc’s and Mr. Ren’s Semblances, which was one relief.  Oz continued to remain quiet, using Oscar’s senses to try to get an idea of what had been happening while he’d kept himself locked away in the boy’s mind.  When the Huntresses asked their small group to deal with some Grimm that had been moving in, Oz wasn’t surprised to hear them all agree – after all, save for Oscar, that was what they had all enrolled at Beacon to do.</p><p> </p><p>Racing through the streets on the back of a hover-bike with the Grimm in close pursuit wasn’t <em>exactly</em> standard procedure for a Grimm hunt, but considering who the Huntsmen were in this case, it also didn’t surprise him either.  He’d always known Ms. Xiao-Long to be a thrill-seeker, and Team JNPR had always had a head-first approach to their training while at Beacon.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, Fiona, that’s one more problem taken care of,” Ms. Xiao-Long said into their comms.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Good, because we’re getting reports of more Grimm coming in from the west.  The Huntsmen there could really use some backup.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A long, tired sigh met that information.  ‘Okay, we’re on our way.”</p><p> </p><p><em>This isn’t good,</em> Oz said softly.  <em>Right now it may only be a few stragglers, but eventually Salem <strong>will</strong> bring all of her forces to bear on Mantle and Atlas.  The fear and negativity will only make things worse, and if everyone is too exhausted to fight…</em></p><p> </p><p>“It’s all the negativity.  Salem’s forces aren’t moving in, but it’s enough to start attracting the stragglers, and to wear down the defenses,” Oscar relayed to the others.</p><p> </p><p>“Guys,” Mr. Ren warned.  “We’re not finished.”</p><p> </p><p>Further down the street, three Sabyrs were moving in at a rush, but that didn’t explain the sudden sense of dread that Oz felt.  Sabyrs were dangerous, yes, especially in large packs, but all of his students were more than capable of handling three of them.</p><p> </p><p>“All right.  We need to hurry this up and take –”  Ms. Xiao-Long began, only to cut herself off in mid-sentence when all three Sabyrs skidded to a halt before turning tail and <em>running</em>.  Something was <em>very</em> wrong.</p><p> </p><p>“What just happened?” Mr. Ren asked.</p><p> </p><p>“They… ran.  I’ve never seen Grimm act that way before,” Mr. Arc added.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nor I.  Something is very wrong, Oscar.  Be on your guard.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“But what were they running fr-”</p><p> </p><p>A heavy weight suddenly landed on top of Oscar, knocking him and Mr. Ren from the hover bike and to the icy ground.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Something seized his partner’s arm and flung him through the air like a rag doll.  The world spun dizzyingly as Oscar screamed, the cry cutting off abruptly as he hit the ground again.  Oz felt their aura flare from the impact.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar!”</p><p> </p><p>Another hit, another drain to their aura.  Whatever this Grimm was, it was powerful.  It was hard to focus on what was going around them, as Oscar’s terror flowed freely through their bond.</p><p> </p><p>One of the consequences of reincarnation – especially before the merge was complete – was a heightened sense of awareness regarding his partner’s mental and emotional state.  In most cases, it was useful, as it allowed Oz a better sense of how his partner was reacting to the merge and the memories that were being shared between the two of them.  It allowed him to comfort his partner when his partner was sad, to provide encouragement when he felt afraid, to be more than just a ghostly voice in his partner’s mind and to feel like a real <em>person</em> even though he didn’t have a body of his own.</p><p> </p><p>At times like this, however, it could also be a liability.  Oscar’s panic fed into Oz’s emotions before Oz had a chance to clamp down and get control of his own feelings, overwhelming him and creating a feedback loop that bled back down to Oscar, which in turn increased Oscar’s terror… and so on.</p><p> </p><p>He felt Oscar trying to scramble out of the creature’s way, but it was too fast, too strong for the boy.  He fought to contain his own panic when the Grimm’s paw slammed down on Oscar’s chest.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar!  Let me have control! </em>Oz cried, trying to stay calm, to break the loop of panic the two of them were trapped in, but also trying to impress the urgency of his need to have control on Oscar.  The boy wasn’t a fully trained Huntsman yet – he wouldn’t have the mental fortitude to endure the sort of punishment that Oz could if he were in control.  After the way he violated Oscar’s agency at Haven, Oz wasn’t about to take control by force, but if the boy lost consciousness before Oz was in control…</p><p> </p><p>But it was too late – with another, final blow, Oscar’s aura shattered, and his consciousness fled, along with all of his senses – leaving Oz trapped in an empty void, unable to help or take any action of his own, until Oscar woke again.</p><p> </p><p>As a rule, Grimm didn’t take prisoners, which meant that this one had to have been sent by Salem directly, for this specific purpose.  What that might mean for the two of them didn’t bode well… and Oz wasn’t looking forward to finding out.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“We have chosen to depart this world, but in our absence, I would like to offer you the chance to return to it… Mankind is no more, yet your world remains.  And in time your kind will grow to walk it’s face once again.  However, without our presence, they will be but a fraction of what they once were.  Creation, Destruction, Choice, and Knowledge were the ideals on which humanity was made.  Now, I leave them behind, with the hope that you will learn to remake yourselves.  If brought together, these four relics will summon my brother and I back to your world, and humanity will be judged.  If your kind has learned to live in harmony with one another and set aside their differences, then we shall once again dwell among you and humanity will be made whole again.  But if your kind is unchanged – if you demand our blessings while still fighting amongst yourselves – then man will be found irredeemable and your world will be wiped from existence.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>How many times over the millennia that he had walked the face of Remnant had that conversation with the God of light played out in his mind?  Over and over again, he had picked it apart from every angle, trying first to find the solution that would allow him to keep his promise to the Brothers, and then – during his lowest moments of darkest despair – to try to find a loophole, a clause that would get him out of it, without sacrificing the rest of humanity in the process?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Are you surprised?  This world is quite literally godless.  These humans have no one to guide them.  Perhaps that’s all they need.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t you see?  None of that matters anymore.  Why spend our lives trying to redeem these humans when we can <strong>replace</strong> them with what they could never be?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had been a fool in that first incarnation.  So blinded by his love for Salem that he had ignored what was right in front of his face until it was too late.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“We finally had freedom.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>She may have found freedom… but <em>he</em> had not.  He had trapped himself and all of his future partners in a cage of his own making – one more powerful than the cage he currently found himself in.</p><p> </p><p>Being trapped in the dark void that was the edge of Oscar’s subconscious wasn’t pleasant.  It left him blind, deaf, and mute, alone with nothing but his thoughts and memories.  There weren’t <em>walls</em> per se, but the only sensation of <em>boundary</em> that existed was the faint edge of <em>self</em> that divided himself and Oscar.  It was a boundary which was much more prominent when Oscar was conscious – a clear line dividing their two personalities, at least for the time being while they were still so early in the merging process.  Although, as that process continued, the line between them would shrink until it was nearly non-existent.  But whenever this happened, this dark void of senselessness, it always stirred a faint hint of claustrophobia within him.  When Oscar was simply asleep, it didn’t bring up these feelings, because there was always a faint overlap as his partner’s dreams bled over to him, as it was in sleep when his new partners tended to receive most of his memories, since the subconscious mind could accept and process such things more efficiently than the conscious mind.</p><p> </p><p>Even during his self-imposed exile in the back of Oscar’s mind – their <em>shared</em> mind – he had been able to see through Oscar’s eyes, hear through his ears if he had chosen to do so, although most of those long months had been spent trying to deal with the trauma of reliving the memories that Jinn’s tale had brought back up and the grief that had been born along with the realization that he may have lost the only allies he had left in this incarnation.</p><p> </p><p>But now – waiting for Oscar to regain consciousness – the only thing he could do was reflect and try <em>not</em> to remember, try not to panic, as that would only exacerbate the feedback loop between the two of them once Oscar was awake again.  He had no doubt that the Grimm that had attacked Oscar had singled his partner out for a reason – and this wouldn’t be the first time that he had come face-to-face with Salem since his first reincarnation.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Even now, you still betray me, Ozma.  You tried to steal my daughters away from me.  You attacked me.  We had an agreement.  We had freedom, power… a chance to remake the world in a way that the <strong>gods</strong> could never have done, and you threw it all away for empty promises from the very ones who stole you away from me in the first place!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>More than anything, he did <em>not</em> want to see her again.  It was too early – Oscar was too young and not nearly strong enough to hope to hold his own against Salem for more than a moment at best.  Even he, with his millennia of experience as a warrior wouldn’t be able to stand against her for long, not when she could come back no matter what he did to her.  He’d learned that lesson the hard way and it had cost him more than one partner in the past.</p><p> </p><p>Sound and scent were the first senses to return – heavy footsteps on… something… <em>soft</em>?  The sound wasn’t as crisp as it should have been if the footsteps were landing on stone, tile, or even wood.  But softness was a word that he no longer associated with Salem, so why would something around her sound <em>soft</em>?</p><p> </p><p>In the distance, fading in and out of Oscar’s hearing range, was a low timbred groaning.  It was too deep, too organic to be something mechanical, but it was unlike anything he’d ever heard before.</p><p> </p><p>The scent was even more peculiar – an acrid smell, blending with a more overpowering smell of rotting and decaying flesh.  It took another few moments before Oz could separate the acrid smell from the rotten flesh.  Ash, or soot – something charred.</p><p> </p><p>Where exactly had they been taken?</p><p> </p><p>A sense of touch returned next – the feeling of Oscar’s coat being pulled tightly against his shoulders and chest from behind, as if someone had picked him up by it.  He – <em>they</em> – were left hanging there, as Oz could only feel the pull against Oscar’s coat and shirt.  There was no contact with a floor or wall, so he could only assume that they had been left suspended in mid-air.</p><p> </p><p>If taste returned, Oz didn’t pay attention to it.  They weren’t eating or drinking at the moment, so the only thing that taste may have done to benefit them in this case would be to sharpen the sense of smell slightly, and at the moment a heightened sense of smell wouldn’t benefit them.</p><p> </p><p>The gradual return of senses was almost as maddening as being left in that black void – it gave him some information, but not enough to draw any firm conclusions about what was happening.  The uncertainty only made him nervous and that much harder to retain control of his emotions.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, the line which formed the edge of Oscar’s consciousness sharpened as the boy came closer to awakening.  Oz had been trying to keep his distance since he broke from his exile, knowing that Oscar needed time to adjust and adapt to his presence again, but he also couldn’t afford for the boy to panic again if there was to be any hope of getting out of the situation they were in.  Panic wouldn’t serve either of them, so he pressed close, allowing the edge of his own soul to overlap Oscar’s – the closest he could get to a comforting hug without the benefit of his own body.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar?</em> He kept his voice soft, calming.  Keeping Oscar calm would be critical to surviving the next few minutes, and from there they could begin planning how to escape.  He had a feeling that he knew what was coming and despite the dread welling up in him, he forced himself to lock his own feelings away.  If Oscar panicked, it would be worse for both of them.  <em>Don’t panic.  We’re going to be okay.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He chose the plural form deliberately, wanting to make sure that the boy knew that he wasn’t planning on abandoning him again just because they were in a difficult situation.</p><p> </p><p>Sight returned slowly as Oscar regained consciousness.  Red – a red floor?  It was the wrong texture to be stone or tile… it looked like… <em>flesh</em>?  The sight of Oscar’s clothing, soot-stained and dirty from the fight with Neopolitan up in Atlas.  Oscar’s shadow below them, making it obvious that they were, indeed, hanging from something.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Oscar murmured, before he raised his head, giving Oz a clear look at their surroundings.  Red and black walls which seemed to be <em>moving</em>, jagged bits of bone lining the floor… and… <em>her.</em></p><p> </p><p>“My long lost Ozma.  Found, at last.”  There was a cloud of smoke hovering over her hand and the sound of childish laughter... it took a moment for Oz to realize that the smoke cloud was a conjured image of their lost daughters.  He forced back the pain and grief, realizing that Salem had done that only to hurt <em>him</em>, since she couldn’t possibly know how far along in the merge he was with Oscar, or what he had told Oscar about their past together.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar seemed to fully realize where they were at that moment and Oz could feel his panic rising as he struggled to get free of whatever was holding them suspended.  He <em>had</em> to keep Oscar calm, so he pressed closer, trying to be a reassuring presence without taking control of Oscar’s body.  He’d violated that trust once before – he didn’t want to do it again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar, stay calm.   She <strong>wants</strong> you to panic.  She <strong>wants</strong> you to be afraid of her, because then she’ll have the advantage.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“So small, this new host of yours.  It’s a wonder my hound didn’t break you.”  Salem dismissed the conjured smoke image and moved out of the shadows of the doorway, giving both Oscar and Oz a clear look at her.</p><p> </p><p>She was terrifying.  Darkness seemed to follow her like a cloak, although the lighting in the strange dim room didn’t change at all.  Black veins crept up her pale arms and face, and her white hair was arranged in an elaborate style that was vastly different to the simpler half-bun she had worn in the past.  Beneath it all, however, Oz could still see traces of the beautiful woman he had once loved, though those traces were nearly non-existent.  He pushed the memory back, not wanting his thoughts or feelings about Salem to impinge on Oscar’s mind.  There would be time enough later to work through them.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been… how many years?... since we saw each other like this, face-to-face?” she asked.  Somehow the fact that she was speaking so calmly, so naturally, was even more terrifying than if she had been screaming or threatening him.  “And nothing to say?”</p><p> </p><p><em>What… what do I do?</em>  Oscar was still afraid, still panicking slightly if the racing of his heartbeat was any indication, but he was making an effort to not lose his composure, which filled Oz with both pride and grief.  This boy was too young to have to deal with this, yet he was displaying all of the courage that Miss Rose had assured him that he possessed.</p><p> </p><p><em>Just stay calm,</em> Oz reassured him.  <em>We’re too valuable to her at the moment.  She wants information, and she wants to intimidate you into giving her what she wants.  </em>He paused before adding, tentatively, <em>Would you like me to…?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>No.  No, I can do this.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oz could feel Oscar clamping down on his fear.  Vague, disjointed thoughts and emotions bled over to him before Oscar straightened as much as his current position would allow him to, attempting to deepen his voice and adopt Oz’s mannerisms.  “I’m sorry the reunion isn’t living up to your expectations.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar, don’t –</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He was a moment too late with his warning as Salem stared at Oscar before her hand lashed out and seized his face, dragging him closer, her eyes glowing red as her voice dropped from friendly to pure threat.</p><p> </p><p>“You can pretend, boy, but you’re not fully him.  Not yet at least.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a spike of fear from Oscar, but it wasn’t… there was something there, a nuance to the feeling that Oz couldn’t pin down, and now wasn’t the time to chase it.  He pressed close again, trying to soothe his partner’s fear.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” she continued, her voice gentling and again becoming calm as she studied him, releasing her grip on his face.  “Perhaps you and I can have a better working relationship.  Oscar, was it?”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar just stared at her, wondering what was coming next.  Oz stayed quiet in the back of his mind, suspecting, but wanting to gather more information before prompting Oscar on what to do if he panicked again.</p><p> </p><p>“The Beacon Relic.”  She stepped to her right and began circling behind the Grimm which held them suspended.  “My forces have been unable to locate the relic beneath the school.  If I know my <em>Ozma –” </em>and the way she sneered his first name, as if it was the most loathsome word she knew was a huge tell about her feelings, “he has used some means of deception to hide its location differently than the others.  I need to know where it is.”</p><p> </p><p>“I –” Oscar hesitated. “That’s not something I know about.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Good, Oscar.  Tell her the truth if you must, but don’t reveal more than you have to in order to appease her.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fortunately, she seemed to accept his answer.  “Of course.  That’s something he would keep guarded for as long as possible.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t going to be that simple, however.  It never was between he and Salem.</p><p> </p><p>“How about something easier then?  The password for the lamp?”</p><p> </p><p>Jinn knew everything except events that were to come.  If Oscar gave her the password, she could use it to ask where the Beacon relic was, and that would be <em>bad</em>, because Jinn would know and Jinn would answer. </p><p> </p><p>Oz knew that Oscar hated lying.  His parents – and his aunt – had raised him to be honest.  He knew <em>exactly</em> what lying did, after the way that Qrow and team RWBY had reacted to hearing Jinn’s story.  He could almost <em>feel</em> his partner’s cheek aching with a phantom pain as he remembered Qrow’s punch.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar, we can’t tell her that.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“The lamp is all out of questions.”</p><p> </p><p>Salem turned and looked at him.  Her hands came up and then…</p><p> </p><p><em>PAIN</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Raw, agonizing screams tore themselves free from Oscar’s throat.  For Oz, the physical pain was somewhat muted as he didn’t have a body that could feel pain, but the spell she was using was tainted magic – dark magic – and it hurt on a deeper level than Oscar could currently comprehend, since he wasn’t yet fully in tune with the magic that he would one day have full control over.  Oscar was focusing on the physical trauma to his body, but Oz could feel her magic lashing at his soul and their bond.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar!  It will be alright!  Just try to breathe!</em> Oz called, pushing as close to taking over as he dared without actually doing so.  He would give anything, <em>anything</em>, to prevent his young partner from having to feel this, but he was currently helpless to intervene as anything other than an anchor for Oscar to pull strength from, if he chose.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed to go on for an eternity, but finally… <em>finally</em>… Salem lowered her hands and the pain stopped, leaving Oscar coughing and gasping for breath, barely managing to hold back the sobs he wanted to release.  Oscar wasn’t alone in hurting, however his pain was far more than what Oz was feeling from Salem’s tainted magic – no doubt her way of punishing him as well as Oscar.</p><p> </p><p>“The lies come out of you so easily,” Salem said as she approached. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stay calm, Oscar.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar cringed away from her as she reached out and cupped his cheek gently with one hand, which only fueled Oz’s fury at her actions. He forced the anger down, however, knowing that it wouldn’t help Oscar at the moment.  Her touch was a mockery of kindness and gentleness – fake, like so many other things about her now.  “Like-minded souls indeed.”</p><p> </p><p>She turned away as Oscar hung his head, still trying to regain his composure and catch his breath, even as his chest continued to ache.  “One of you is going to tell me what I want to know.  I don’t much care if it is you, or Ozma.  Either way, I’ll finally have the relic.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar groaned, but managed to raise his head. </p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar.  I’m here.  I’m not leaving you again.  We’re in this together. </em>Oz assured the boy, once again trying to envelop his partner and pull him closer.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment it seemed as if they were truly one mind and one voice, although Oz made no move to take over control.  “I won’t tell you anything,” Oscar managed.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Salem seemed amused by his defiance.  “Hm.”</p><p> </p><p>The door behind her opened and mutual dread washed over both of their paired souls.  “H-hazel?”  The huge man stalked towards them and Oscar raised his hands defensively.  “Wait.  Wait!”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel’s fists landed on his chest – once, twice – before the Hound dropped him on the ground and Oscar found himself gasping for breath again, his already aching chest exploding with pain.  Oz <em>burned</em> with the desire to take control from his partner, but he wouldn’t violate Oscar’s agency that way again and he knew that being in control would only enrage the giant man in front of them.</p><p> </p><p>“That was for Haven Academy,” Hazel’s deep voice echoed from above him.  Oscar – Brothers bless him for his strength and courage – tried to raise his head, just as a solid kick landed in his stomach and sent him flying.  “Everything that follows will be from my sister.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hazel… please…” Oscar begged, coughing again.  “I can’t…</p><p> </p><p>Another vicious kick threw him into the air, bringing him slamming down to the ground with punishing force and knocking the breath out of him again, shattering what little aura they had managed to regain in the interval since Oscar had been knocked out down in Mantle.</p><p> </p><p>Oz couldn’t take it any longer.  He couldn’t sit back passively and watch his partner be so abused. <em>Oscar.  Let me take over.  Let me spare you this.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>No.  He’ll just try to kill you again, no matter what she has to say,</em> Oscar replied, even as he struggled to draw in one clear breath before Hazel could strike him again.</p><p> </p><p><em>He won’t dare – not until we give her what she wants,</em> Oz replied.  <em>Your courage is admirable, but you don’t have to suffer because of my actions.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Did <strong>you</strong> kill his sister? </em>Oscar asked pointedly.  <em>I mean actually pull the trigger or… or stab her… or whatever?  Did you do that yourself?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Then this isn’t your fault.  I can take it.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Hazel seized the back of Oscar’s coat, lifting him into the air again and shaking him hard enough that sparks exploded behind Oscar’s eyes.  The disorientation affected Oz as well, though to a lesser degree.</p><p> </p><p>Another punch landed in his stomach before Hazel flung him across the room.  Oscar’s back hit one of the walls, hard, and he groaned as he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath he couldn’t seem to find.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar…</em> Oz ached to do something to help, but at the moment it was clear that Oscar didn’t <em>want</em> his help.  Not in that way.  All he could do was remain passive and wait and provide what comfort he could until they were alone again.  <em>Very well.  However, my offer stands. I’ll be here when you’re ready.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next span of time was a blur of pain unlike anything that Oscar had ever experienced.  Hazel was relentless.  The blows – both punches and kicks – seemed to impact every part of his body, although the larger man seemed particularly interested in landing blows to his chest and stomach.  More than once he thought that he felt a rib crack, but in the overall haze of pain he was going through, it was hard to count.</p><p> </p><p>Oz was a reassuring presence in the back of his mind, but he made no move to try to take over the way he had at Haven.  Oscar wasn’t sure how he felt about that – he’d <em>hated</em> it when the older soul had shoved him out of the way during that fight… but… he would be lying to himself if he didn’t wish that he didn’t have to feel all of this pain at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>At the same time however, if Oz took control, Hazel would only hurt them <em>more</em> out of his rage towards Oz’s perceived involvement in Gretchen’s death, and he didn’t want that.  He wasn’t sure how he could tell, but Hazel was holding back.  Whether that was because he didn’t really want to hurt Oscar, or because Salem had ordered him to do just enough to <em>persuade</em> him to talk, he wasn’t entirely sure.</p><p> </p><p>Hazel kicked him again, and he slammed into the floor, rolling several times until his back ran up against the wall.  He braced himself for the sound of footsteps and squeezed his eyes closed as he tried to just <em>breathe</em>.  If Hazel followed pattern, he would be grabbed by the back of his jacket and either thrown across the room again, or there would be another punch to his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>But the expected blow didn’t come.  He pried one eye open to see Hazel leaving the room without a word.  The door closed behind him and Oscar held his breath for a moment until the <em>agony</em> in his chest forced him to expel it, which only made the hurt worse as his strained muscles screamed.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oz…”</em> he whimpered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m here, Oscar.  It will be okay.  Just take slow, deep breaths.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“</em>It<em> hurts…”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I know.  I know it does.  But it will pass… just breathe and try to relax as much as possible.  Would you like me to take over and give you some relief for a bit?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar took a deep breath, trying not to sob at the agony as his chest expanded, pulling on aching muscles.  “No… no, I’ll… I’ll be okay.  You’re… you’re right,” he managed between stifled sobs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a long moment of silence from the old wizard, before Oscar got the impression of a sigh.  <em>Very well.</em></p><p> </p><p>Oscar lay on the floor and tried to do what Oz had suggested, just taking slow, deep breaths.  It hurt so much, but he wasn’t going to be weak.  He might not be a Huntsman on Oz’s level (who could ever hope to be though?) or even on the level of Ruby and her friends, but he was going to be strong enough to endure this.</p><p> </p><p>It took too much effort to try to speak out loud, and caused even more pain, so – as uneasy as it made him, he reached out to Oz in the only other way he could.  <em>Oz?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, Oscar?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>There was a question that he needed to ask, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage to find out the answer… but if things kept going the way they had been…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I… when we merge… I don’t…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A flash of recent memory, from Argus…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“These past few days, I’ve been scared of the same things you were.  I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be…me.  But I did some thinking, and I do know that I want to do everything I can to help with whatever time I have left.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Confusion for a moment from the old wizard, followed by a feeling of clarity.  <em>Oh.  Oh, Oscar, I am so sorry.  I should have realized…  </em>There was a warm feeling, almost like he was being embraced, but it wasn’t a <em>physical</em> sensation.  <em>I truly seem to have made a mess of everything this time around, haven’t I?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I just… I need to know, but…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not your fault.  These are legitimate concerns I should have addressed with you so much sooner.  This process that we’re going through… it’s like weaving a tapestry.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I… huh?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>In a tapestry, each thread has its own color, its own purpose in the grand design of the pattern or image,</em> Oz explained.  <em>Together, they form the pattern or the picture, but you could pull on a single thread and it would unravel.  Once the merge is complete, <strong>you</strong> will be that tapestry – thousands of threads of memories, experiences, emotions, all unique in themselves, but brought together to make something larger, grander… you.  Right now, you can still distinctly tell what parts are me and what parts are you, because your unique threads are still being woven into the whole.  With concentration, you will be able to separate out the many different lives that make up the whole, but for the most part, it will simply feel natural because the weaving will be so tight and complete.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The longer each of my previous incarnations had lived, the tighter the weaving becomes.  Some of my lives have been brief and didn’t contribute much to the overall pattern, while some were much longer and the colors they bring to what we are becoming are much more prominent and easier to tap into.  The most recent incarnation before you – Ozpin – will always be the clearest in your mind, but Ozpin will never be <strong>you</strong>.  You’ll hear me less and less, because you’ll already have gained everything that I have to offer, so you won’t <strong>need</strong> me that way.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>That… wasn’t as scary as he thought.  He’d always liked looking at the woven blankets that his aunt would buy during festival days to brighten up the farmhouse.  The colors were always so vibrant and the whole blanket was a work of art.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Exactly.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>If you… I mean we… are a work of art, then why do you call it a curse?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Because it can feel that way.  During times of sadness and depression, it’s easy to forget the moments of happiness and beauty that my reincarnations have brought.  During those times, I think about all of the lives that have been lost – not just my own, but those I loved and witnessed dying, and it makes me want to curse the Brothers for offering this to me, and I want to curse myself for not asking the right questions before agreeing to it.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>But in happier times, when I’m surrounded by friends or loved ones, it’s easier to recall the brighter moments, and then it feels less like a curse and more like a blessing, because I’ve been able to experience so many things that I never would have had I simply remained Ozma.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>That was good to know, Oscar supposed, taking another deep breath, just before the sound of heavy footsteps reaches his ears again.  <em>Oh no…</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It will be all right, Oscar.  We’ll get through this… together.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oz was right.  He’d been angry at the older soul for months now – almost a year but having him back and speaking to him – they were together again, and Oscar had the sense that they would always be stronger when they were together.</p><p> </p><p><em>Yes…</em> <em>we will.  I’m sorry, Oz… and I forgive you…</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He managed to catch Oz by surprise, if the feelings coming from the wizard were any indication, just before Hazel grabbed him again and began binding his wrists together with strips of fabric.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sitting by, unable to do anything except be a reassuring voice in the back of Oscar’s mind, was one of the hardest things that Oz had ever had to do.  He’d had stubborn partners before, those who were completely unwilling to accept him. As a result their bond had never been as strong as it could have been, but that had been their choice.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been captured by Salem in the past as well, tortured simply because it gave her pleasure to see him in pain at her feet after his perceived betrayal.  And, of course, there had been the deaths that he had experienced directly at her hands – none of them pleasant or quick.</p><p> </p><p>But somehow, all of that paled in comparison to remaining passive while a <em>child</em> was beaten simply for the crime of being his gods-ordained partner in this incarnation.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to do this to you, boy,” Hazel lifted Oscar from the strange bone-like hook from which he'd been suspended. He made quick work of the restraints around the boy's wrists which had held him in place as Hazel used his body as a punching bag.  “If you would just tell me what you know, this will be over for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar wheezed as Hazel dropped him to the ground roughly. “N-no.”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel grunted and turned away, heading for the door.  “I’ll give you some time to reconsider.”</p><p> </p><p>“I – I won’t tell you anything,” Oscar managed, filling Oz with no little pride at his partner’s courage and strength once again.</p><p> </p><p>Hazel paused.</p><p> </p><p>“Then you’ve made your choice, boy.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a <em>squelching</em> sound as the door opened and closed again behind the giant man.  Oscar curled up tightly, struggling to draw air into his lungs, even though that wasn’t the best position for him to be in.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar?  You’ll be fine.  Just take slow breaths.</em>  Now, perhaps he could help, even if it meant bearing the pain himself and giving Oscar a chance to rest peacefully for a few hours.  <em>You continue to surprise me.</em></p><p> </p><p>“H-how?” Oscar asked, before he coughed and groaned at the pull on his chest.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Your strength.  Your determination.  Your courage.  There aren’t many your age who could go through what you have already without breaking.  It’s why the Huntsman Academies don’t accept anyone under seventeen as students except in incredibly special cases, like Miss Rose.  When I founded the Academies, I never wanted to pull children into my war with Salem, but you have already done far more than many would do if they were in your place.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“R-really?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes.  You have been forging your own path throughout all of this – growing into the person you want to be.  I know it hasn’t been easy for you since I interrupted your life, and I am so sorry for that.  As I’ve said before, you are much too young to have been dragged into all of this, but you have overcome every challenge that has been placed in your way, and I am confident that you will continue to do so.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh.  T-thanks.”  Silence fell between them again as Oscar lay on the ground, breathing slowly.  When he finally moved again, Oz wanted to tell him to stop, to just rest, but there was a feeling of determination coming from his partner, and…</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Oz?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes, Oscar?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I'm not telling her anything, but... she'll get tired of me eventually. I'm guessing this is the first time she's ever had a relic, right?”</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Yes.  After…</em>  How to explain this without causing Oscar more fear and worry than he was already feeling?  <em>Well… after I first revealed the existence of the relics to her and we… had our falling out…</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>That was one way to put it, although Oz could think of several others, but he was trying to be honest without dwelling on it.  He didn’t like to think about those early reincarnations, because they had been full of pain and he had been at his lowest point.  <em>There were several lives that I lived after that before I really began my quest to find the relics.  Losing my daughters the way I did… losing Salem… it… well, it broke me for a time.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em>“Heed this warning.  Where you seek comfort, you will find only pain.”</em>  Ozma hadn’t listened to the God of Light’s warning at the time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>During that time, Salem didn’t really do anything.  I don’t know why – it would have been a perfect opportunity for her to gain a significant advantage over me, but she held back from making any moves.  I suspect that once she took the time to really think about the relics and what they meant, she may have come to believe that the God of Light had already given me the answer as to where the relics could be found, and she was hoping to use me to find them.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“But it didn’t work?” Oscar asked, rubbing at his nose.  He squinted a bit to try to see out of the eye that was badly swollen.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No.  Back then, I still had my full magical abilities which left us much more evenly matched.  Her advantage of course, was the fact that she couldn’t die, no matter how much I weakened her, whereas I was forced to go through the process of reincarnating and merging with my new partner each time we faced each other.  So I had to be more… strategic.  My advantage was that she didn’t have a way to recognize my new partners or know that it was me unless we came face to face – then, she always knew.  But since she didn’t know where to find me in the world, I was able to move more freely and I at least knew what the relics looked like.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh.”  Oscar sniffed a bit, before wrapping an arm around his ribs.  Oz ached to be able to take the pain away from him.  The beating that Hazel had given him had been relentless, and Oscar hadn’t had a chance to try to regain any of his aura. That meant that he had felt every blow, at full strength. The injuries – even the ones that would just leave bruises – were beginning to accumulate.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I think he’ll leave us alone for a little while.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“When – when she gets tired of my refusal to talk… she’ll just kill me – us – won’t she?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar, please don’t give up hope.  Until we give her password to the Lamp or tell her where the Beacon relic is, she won’t let Hazel kill us.  It would be a waste of a valuable resource.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“T-that’s good to know, I – I guess,” Oscar managed.  “It means he’ll… be back.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Yes, he will.</em>  Oz agreed.  <em>But this is your chance to try to regain some of your aura and prepare for a rescue.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Rescue?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Miss Xiao-Long, Mr. Arc, and Mr. Ren are still out there.  I have no doubt that they are looking for you.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh.  Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence fell between them as tried to gain control of himself enough to meditate to try to regain his aura.  With a few gentle nudges at the edges of his consciousness, Oscar could usually manage a meditative trance, but it was more difficult this time because he <em>hurt</em> so much. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, Oz spoke up again.  <em>Sleep would also help you regain your aura if you can’t concentrate enough to meditate.  </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I…”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I know you’re tired, and I’ll wake you up before Hazel comes back.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll try.”  It took some careful maneuvering, but Oscar was eventually able to find a position to lie in that didn’t seem to aggravate his wounds or impede his breathing.  He closed his eyes, and let out a slow breath, even as one salty tear rolled down his cheek and touched his lips.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry, Oscar.  Sleep.  I’ll watch over you.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>Oscar</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar, wake up.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Senses were again muted, since Oscar was asleep, but it wasn’t the complete and utter void that it had been when he was unconscious after the earlier attack.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oscar, Hazel is coming.  You need to wake up.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Oscar blinked once, twice, restoring sight to both of them.  He was still lying on the ground where he’d fallen asleep.  It was hard to move now – his muscles had begun to stiffen, and his chest still ached from the repeated blows he had taken.</p><p> </p><p>He managed to push himself into a seated position just as the door opened with its slimy squelch sound.  Hazel’s heavy boots were muffled due to the strange, soft texture of the floor, but audible enough to be ominous.  The sight of him woke Oscar up completely as dread washed over him.  Even Oz’s projected feelings of calm and comfort didn’t do anything to squash the fear he now had for this man and Oz wished he dared to take over and fight back again.</p><p> </p><p>“Hazel… please,” Oscar tried, scooting back and instinctively hunching over to try to protect his body.  “Please, don’t do this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Give her the password for the Lamp and I won’t have to,” Hazel replied.</p><p> </p><p>“I c-can’t,” Oscar said.  “I won’t let her destroy everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel reached down and seized him by the back of his neck, thick fingers squeezing into pressure points that had Oscar gritting his teeth.  “Then you’re a fool, boy.”  He slammed Oscar back against the wall, his free hand grabbing both of Oscar’s wrists and pinning them together while he bound them with strips of fabric again.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar, please let me take control.</em> Oz nudged hard at the edges of his consciousness, prepared to take control from Oscar.</p><p> </p><p><em>No.</em> Oscar pushed the older soul back.</p><p> </p><p>His wrists bound, Hazel snatched him up again and carried him over to one side of the room, forcing Oscar’s arms above his head and hooking the fabric strips over the bone-like hook.  The position again pulled on Oscar’s shoulders and chest – the burn where Salem had struck him with her magic wasn’t getting any better.  Oz could feel that their aura had begun to replenish, but he didn’t suggest that Oscar activate it – it wouldn’t last long under Hazel’s abuse and he would likely need it once Hazel was done with him again.</p><p> </p><p>“Hazel – this won’t make anything better,” Oscar tried, before one of Hazel’s fists landed in his stomach again.  He coughed harshly, his chest aching again, before another fist slammed into his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Please…” Oscar said, softly.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stay strong, Oscar.  I’ll take over if you need a break.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll stop when you tell me what she wants,” Hazel said simply.  “Then you’ll be free.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I’d like to express again that this is my burden to bear, not yours.  His grudge is with me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’ll be even worse.  He’s holding back with me.  I can tell.”  Oscar wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth as he leaned wearily back against the wall.  His aura was working to try to heal the damage from the most recent session with Hazel, but he still ached, and it was getting harder to breathe with each blow he took, which only made Oz more concerned about his partner’s health.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I understand, I do, but you’ve done so much already.  The least I can do is give you a break and try to get us out of here.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t leave yet.  This is our chance.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hmm… maybe you’ve taken one too many hits.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> “Salem, she knows she can’t take on the whole world at once.  So she doesn’t.  She has her followers work their way in, sabotaging us from the inside out.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Maybe we should do the same.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>We certainly are similar, you and I.  Maybe we <strong>have</strong> been presented with an opportunity.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The door opened again, and Hazel once again entered, his body blocking the light coming from the corridor, filling the room with an ominous shadow.</p><p> </p><p>“Great,” Oscar muttered.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar, please,</em> Oz pleaded again as Hazel grabbed them and shoved Oscar back against the wall brutally.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t need to fight this war kid,” Hazel said.  “Tell me what I need, and we can be done.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Are you sure about this?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes.  I can get through to him where you may not be able to.  He sees you as a child – but we would not have been paired together if we were not capable of balancing each other’s weaknesses.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Alright.</em>  This time, when Oz nudged at the edge that defined their separate minds, Oscar accepted it, fading back, and leaving Oz in control.</p><p> </p><p>It <em>hurt</em>, but Oz had been prepared for that, just as he was prepared to experience more hurt as soon as Hazel realized they had switched.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Hazel.”</p><p> </p><p>“Coward!  All this time, it could have been you, but you let him suffer!”  The world spun again as Hazel flung him across the room.  The strange texture of the ground wasn’t enough to soften their landing, but Oz drew on his experience and managed to pull himself to his feet as Hazel stormed over.  “Now, tell us how this damned lamp works! The boy has suffered enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you follow her?” Oz asked, just before a heavy boot landed on their chest.</p><p> </p><p>Strength – Hazel would respect that more than groveling.  Yes, he wanted Oz dead again, but in the giant man’s eyes it would be more satisfying to break him first.  Oz wasn’t going to allow that.  “I know.” He coughed again, before drawing in as deep a breath as he could manage with his chest aching.  “I know how you see me.  But her?  Look at what she does.  How is she the answer?  Why not stop her?”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel… paused, glancing away from them for a moment.</p><p> </p><p><em>Wait… did it actually work?</em> Oscar asked incredulously.  <em>It was that simple?</em></p><p> </p><p>“Salem can’t be stopped.  She’s a force of nature.  I’ve seen it firsthand.”  Hazel moved over to a jagged spear of bone and ripped the tip off.  “But you, you send children to their deaths for a cause that you know has no victory, no end.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh.   Never mind.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m not done yet.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Someone has to try!  Salem isn’t a force of nature because Salem <em>can</em> be fought!  Unless she brings the relics together.  If that happens…”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel seized him again, and again bound his wrists together before hanging him back on the hook.  “I don’t want to hear your lies.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oz…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Rest, Oscar, as much as you can.  I can bear this in your stead for a time.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The next several minutes were filled with blows.  There was no point in trying to remain quiet, not when every blow to his chest and stomach forced the air out of him with a gasp of pain.  Oscar remained quiet in the back of their mind for once, and Oz could feel his relief that he wasn’t experiencing the pain this time, although it would come back ten-fold once they switched again.  But Oz was prepared to hold out as long as necessary to give his partner a chance.  It was the least he could do after his mistakes.</p><p> </p><p>“You can make things easier on yourself if you start telling the truth,” Hazel finally said, pausing for breath and to rest his arms.</p><p> </p><p>Oz was silent for a long moment, just breathing through the pain.  “You’ve never wondered <em>why</em> she recruited you?  You, specifically, to help her find the relics?”</p><p> </p><p>“We share a vision.  She’s gonna create a new world order, no kingdoms, and no Huntsmen Academies.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>So <strong>that</strong> was what she promised him.  Not just revenge on me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That doesn’t change anything though.  He still wants you dead, and he probably wants to kill you himself as many times as he can.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yes, but now I have an opening.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Oz smiled sadly, although it pulled painfully at their jaw and he let out a weak chuckle.  “New world order.  No.  When Salem gets all four relics, there will be <em>no</em> world left at all.”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel glared, turning away… but he seemed to be listening.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you get it?  She’s been alive longer than you can comprehend.  All she craves now is release.  Death.”</p><p> </p><p>Hazel growled, turning around and slamming his fist into them so hard that Oz’s vision whited out, his ears rang, and even Oscar whimpered in the back of their mind.  “Stop lying! Salem can’t be killed!  When she came for me, I killed her over and over again.  The longest she was gone was only a few hours before she put herself back together again.  When I couldn’t lift my arms anymore, she showed me that, through her, I could have the vengeance I needed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh Hazel.  Don’t you see?  That is <em>why</em> she came for you.  Because she could make you believe that this is what you needed.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is what you deserve!”</p><p> </p><p>“<strong><em>Yes</em></strong>!” Oz was in complete agreement there.  He had made so many mistakes – taking a beating like this was only the least of what he deserved.  “But <em>Oscar</em>?  The people of Atlas, Remnant?  You haven’t done what you’ve done for justice.  You’ve done it for yourself.  Because she pushed you to think it would help you.  Well?  Has it?”</p><p> </p><p>In all their arguing and the faint ringing in his ears, he had failed to notice the door to their cell opening.</p><p> </p><p>“Ozma.  You’ve finally decided to show yourself, I see.”</p><p> </p><p>Oz’s eyes moved from Hazel to the door, where Salem stood, hands clasped in front of her.  “Salem,” he coughed.  “I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but that would be a lie.”</p><p> </p><p>Her lips turned downward in a frown, ever so slightly.  “Now, that was not very nice, my love.”  She glided into the room as Hazel fell back.  “However, I’ve come to see if you’ve had a change of heart.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?  That doesn’t seem like you.  I wouldn’t have expected you to use a <em>child</em> as your shield like this.”  She stood before them, studying them.  “You have changed – and not just your hosts.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Partners</em>,” Oz corrected through clenched teeth.  “Host implies that they have no say in the matter, that I am simply a parasite sucking them dry.”</p><p> </p><p>A small smile this time.  “Aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No.</em>  That’s the difference between you and me.  I’ve <em>learned</em> over these millennia – how to work <em>with </em>my partners for the good of all of Remnant, while you continue to stagnate and remain just as you were when I last knew you.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Uh… Oz, are you <strong>trying</strong> to make her mad?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You have grown bold, my love,” Salem said darkly.  “However, I will give you another chance.  It is quite simple – I require two things from you.  That is all.  The password for the lamp, and the method to access the Beacon relic.  Once I have them, well… your little host will be free, and you needn’t worry about his safety anymore if he means so much to you.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I don’t like where this is going…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Because you plan to kill us,” Oz said darkly.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no,” she said, stroking his cheek in a mockery of caring. He could feel her sharp nails scratching furrows in his cheeks. "I won't <em>kill</em> you. You're too powerful a piece to be left on the board, turned loose to simply pop up somewhere else again.  You said you’ve learned over the years… well so have I.”</p><p> </p><p>He snarled at the implication. “So you'd just lock us away, instead.” He laughed bitterly. “You'd keep us like a <em>pet</em>. That isn't freedom, yet that was all that you ever wanted when I saved you from that tower.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps, but it will be safer for <em>both</em> of you.” She released him and stepped backward “You <em>know</em> I'd never stop hunting you, Ozma. That your host, this boy, will never find rest so long as you remain within him.”</p><p> </p><p>“This boy, as you put it, has a name,” Oz shot back.  “<em>Oscar</em>.  And he is one of the strongest, most courageous, and capable <em>partners</em> I’ve ever had, despite his age.”</p><p> </p><p>Salem shook her head.  “And yet you would use him until he dies of his wounds?  All because you are too selfish to give me the answers I need?”</p><p> </p><p>He could feel Oscar’s fear at the back of his mind.  <em>Oz… </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Oz let his head hang. <em>Oscar</em>... He was so <em>tired</em>. They were too injured to hope to make a successful escape, and the odds of a rescue party arriving were becoming slimmer with each moment that they remained here.  Oscar was accumulating more injuries, and sooner or later his body would fail, just from the sheer amount of damage it had taken, aura or no aura.</p><p> </p><p>But... perhaps a change in strategy... one last chance to save Oscar… His magic was no match for Salem’s, but if he played his cards right, it might <em>just</em> be enough to save this brave, extraordinary child.</p><p> </p><p>“I came back for <em>you</em>, you know,” he said to the floor. He flicked his eyes up to look at her. “Or have you forgotten that?  I told the God of Light <em>no</em> when he asked me to return because I thought that you were waiting for me in the afterlife.”</p><p> </p><p>She paused, her face staring down at him with little emotion. Good.</p><p> </p><p>“I chose this, took on this curse, for <em>you</em>.” He laughed scornfully. Emotions he'd long repressed were welling up within him, and he used that as a cover to reach deep inside himself.  “And what have you done to repay that? You've destroyed everything I've ever loved out of <em>spite</em>.  Our daughters, the families of my various partners over the millennia… it’s only ever been to hurt me in whatever way you can.”</p><p> </p><p>He finally lifted his head to level an angry glare at her. “I loved you once, but now you've destroyed any love I ever had for you. The woman I loved died a long time ago, and I was too much of a fool to see it.” His chest heaved. It was hard to breathe, but he stared at her with all the defiance he could muster. "You may destroy me, but I will <em>not</em> let you destroy the world.  I’ll come back – as many times as it takes – to stop you and fulfill my promise to the God of Light.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Oz… what are you doing?</em>  Oscar’s voice was beginning to panic in the back of their mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m doing what I have to do to keep you safe.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Her face screwed into an angry grimace. She thrust out her hand, forming a vicious looking ball of black magic in its palm.</p><p> </p><p>Oz felt Oscar wilt within him. <em>Not again</em>, the boy pleaded. <em>Not again.</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Oscar, it’ll be okay,</em> he comforted, even as the ball grew larger in her palm. <em>This, too, shall – </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>His words cut off as she fired a ball of lightning into his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar was screaming in pain at the back of their mind, the tainted magic hurting him as much as it had hurt Oz earlier while the boy was in control, and Oz realized <em>why</em> despite his own screams.  Oscar was beginning to unlock his magic – and Salem’s tainted magic was drawn to try to destroy Oz’s pure magic.</p><p> </p><p>After what seemed like eternity, the attack faded, leaving both of them shuddering in pain – Oz physically, and Oscar cowering at the very back of their shared headspace, waves of agony rippling outward and somehow exacerbating the physical pain.  But Oz forced himself to push past it,<em> stretching</em> for the magic deep in his soul.  He was going to get Oscar out of this, whatever the cost to himself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry, Oscar.  This wasn’t what I wanted for you.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You destroyed our happiness. You betrayed <em>me</em>. I could have given you <em>everything</em> you ever wanted,” she snarled somewhere beyond the agony seared into his chest. “<em>You</em> destroyed me. Now, I'm merely returning the favor.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Oz…</em> Oscar whimpered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sshh…  It will be okay, Oscar…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Another ball of the black lightning was beginning to gather between Salem’s hands, but Oz mustered his remaining strength and raised his head to glare at her.  “You <em>won’t</em> win.”</p><p> </p><p>The lightning lashed out again and Oz <em>acted</em>.  A combination of instinct and training took over and a dome of green, gold, and white light flared to life, intercepting the black lightning, and stopping it before it reached their flesh.  The power flare was so intense it severed the hook they hung from, dropping them onto the ground hard.</p><p> </p><p>The impact jarred every injury they had sustained, and the dome flickered for a moment, allowing one tendril of lightning past, causing Oscar to scream again, his panic flaring and arcing down to Oz, which only fed into his own panic…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oz!!!!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oz gritted their teeth together and shoved past the fear and panic that was threatening to pull him back into a vicious feedback loop. All he had left was his own strength – Oscar wasn’t trained enough or in the right mindset to help with this.  It was sheer willpower alone which closed the gap in the shield, cutting off the lightning, but not the waves of emotion coming from his partner.</p><p> </p><p>His injuries were too much – he couldn’t maintain the shield under the combination of pain, fear, and panic coming from Oscar.  He didn’t want to do this, but it was their only chance.  Within their mind, he stepped back and shoved Oscar back into control of their body before cutting off as much of their bond as he could.  It was cruel, yes, but it was the only way he could concentrate enough to pull off this last trick.</p><p> </p><p>Salem was screaming, pouring her power into a vicious assault against his shield, which was beginning to flicker again.  He’d told Oscar the truth – magically, he was no match for Salem, as she had never sacrificed huge portions of her magic as he had.  But he had to hold on – just a little longer as he worked the spell within his mind…</p><p> </p><p>Emerald green energy flared inside the dome beneath Oscar’s body, and there was a strange <em>ripping</em> sensation along the bond between himself and Oscar.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>OZ!!!!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It was like tearing out half of his soul – but it was for Oscar’s well-being, for the good of all of Remnant, so it was worth it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry, Oscar.  Goodbye…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>OZ!!!!</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story. All references to RWBY belong to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth. I promise to put all the characters back in their proper places when I’m done playing with them.</p><p>Beta Reader: TrashyInferno (thanks for all your help on this hon! I wouldn't be posting it this soon if it weren't for you!)</p><p>I don't have a fixed update schedule for this story as it is still a WIP - but I will update it as I can, since Real Life comes first.</p><p>Oh, and can we just say.... CRWBY - you are all so evil! Every time I think I have a grasp on where the show is heading, you all flip the script! Volume 8 Chapter 8 was amazing - but you've now opened up so many new possibilities with some of the stuff that happened!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Magical Arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Beacon Academy…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Ozpin paced back and forth in the front of the classroom, glancing up at the tiered seats above him where his first-year students were sitting and taking notes, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke.  “This then, is another important reminder – every story, no matter how old, no matter where it may have originated from – has a kernel of truth to it.  It doesn’t matter how unlikely the story or contrived the details may become over the years.  If we use that as a basis of supposition, we can also argue that every fairy tale or fable has an ulterior motive of some kind.”</p><p> </p><p>He paused for breath, glancing at the students again to make sure he still had their attention.  What he was about to explain wasn’t a difficult concept, but at their current ages his students were used to thinking of fairy tales and fables as simple stories, meant only to entertain them when they were younger.  “Perhaps the story was intended as a cautionary tale to warn about the dangers in our world.  Perhaps it was intended as a moral lesson which your parents or guardians wished to install in you when you were young.”  He paused in his pacing and looked up again at the students, offering a smile.  “Or, perhaps the story was simply intended as entertainment.  This story – ‘The Indecisive King – is just another example of a story with ulterior motives.”</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at the clock on the back wall of the classroom, noting the time.  He turned sharply on his heels and moved back to the center of the room, pausing in front of the desk before casting his gaze around at the class.  He took care to make eye contact with each student in turn.  “As we’re nearly out of time for today, your assignment for next week’s class is quite simple.  I would like an essay analyzing what you believe to be the ulterior motive of ‘The Indecisive King’ to be, based on the things that we’ve talked about today, as well as the topics that we’ve covered with the previous stories we’ve discussed.  You’re free to make your own determination about what this story’s ulterior motive may be, as a story never feels exactly the same to two different readers.  However, I expect you to defend your answer with citations from the source material, as well as at least one additional fairy tale or fable to use as a point of comparison.” </p><p> </p><p>He reached behind himself and picked up a copy of the textbook.  “You do not have to select an example from your textbook if you can think of another story that would better serve as a point of comparison.  Remnant is full of stories and legends after all – the ones in your textbook are just a small sampling of the rich literary tradition that the Kingdoms, as well as the cities and villages beyond the Kingdoms – have to offer.  I <em>do</em> expect at least two stories referenced in your essay – the tale of your choice, and ‘The Indecisive King’.  If you have any questions, please feel free to see me during my office hours, or you may reach out to me via scroll-message.”</p><p> </p><p>He could see nods from most of his students, along with a few confused expressions that told him that he was likely to see a flood of messages asking for more clarification – and likely those messages would come in a day or so before the assignment was due, as that was usually the way that things played out, especially when he assigned an essay just before a weekend.</p><p> </p><p>“Class dismissed.  I’ll see all of you next week,” he added as the bell rang.  The students immediately gathered their belongings together, while he tucked the textbook into his briefcase and gathered up the stack of essays they’d turned in at the beginning of the lesson.  This was the final class of the day, as well as the final class of the week, so he was certain that the students would be heading to their dorms to change out of their uniforms and seek out entertainment for the rest of the day.  Unfortunately, he had several hours of work left before he could call it a day, grading these essays not the least of the tasks he would have to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>Briefcase in one hand, Long Memory in the other, Ozpin made his way out of the main classroom building and back towards his office at the top of Beacon Tower.  All around him, he could see the students coming and going, meeting friends, and making plans.  Many called out greetings to him as he passed, and he made sure to acknowledge and return the greetings.</p><p> </p><p>Long Memory <em>clicked</em> with every step, but the timbre of the sound changed as he transitioned from the cobblestone walkway between the buildings to the tiled floor of the Tower.  He made his way towards the elevator, shifting his briefcase to the hand holding his cane so that he could pull out his scroll and scan it at the control terminal.  The ride up to his office near the top of the Tower was uneventful, and upon opening the door, his lips curved into a small smile to see Glynda standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him.</p><p> </p><p>“Glynda,” he greeted her.  He moved over to his desk and placed the briefcase down on the surface, leaned Long Memory on the far side before he moved to the mini kitchenette in the corner of his office.  The kettle of water he’d set up before leaving for his class was waiting, and he moved it over to the small, quick-heat electric burner to warm while he added cocoa powder to his silver teapot.</p><p> </p><p>“How was your class?” the Deputy Headmistress asked.  “It was the first-years today, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, and it went well,” he said.  “We finished our discussion about ‘The Indecisive King’ as far as the plot of the story goes and began talking about ulterior motives behind why stories are written.  I was pleasantly surprised to see how well this group grasped some of the basic concepts behind that particular story, however.”  The kettle whistled and he pulled it off the heat and poured the steaming liquid into his teapot before pulling out a long spoon and mixing the cocoa powder and water together.  He carried it over to his desk and took a seat before pouring himself a mugful and taking a long sip.  “Were you waiting here for me for a reason?”  Of everyone at Beacon, only Glynda had free access to his office at any time of day or night.</p><p> </p><p>She nodded and placed a small stack of files on his desk.  “There was an incident involving some of the first-years early this morning – Mazarin Magali and Azul Archer.  Professor Oobleck was on hand and resolved the situation – it seemed to be a result of the fact that Ms. Magali is a Faunus and Mr. Archer shares many of his Atlesian countrymen’s,” her nose wrinkled in derision, “views.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded solemnly, his lips turning downward in a slight frown.  Prejudice against the Faunus was still strong in many parts of Remnant, which saddened him, but he could only try to change the opinions of his students by modeling proper behavior.  That being said, he didn’t tolerate bullying or assaults on other students once it was brought to his attention.  He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that there <em>wasn’t</em> bullying going on – but some students preferred not to complain about it, and unless it was witnessed by a teacher or reported, he couldn’t intervene on suspicion alone.  He refused to try to impose his beliefs or viewpoints on others by force.</p><p> </p><p>“This is Professor Oobleck’s report on the incident, as well as the statements taken from the students involved and the ones who witnessed it,” Glynda continued.</p><p> </p><p>“Very well.  I’ll take a look and may meet with the students myself if it seems necessary.”</p><p> </p><p>“The most recent sparring and class rankings are also there too,” Glynda added, tapping the topmost file with a manicured nail.  “I’ll post them in the morning before breakfast after you’ve had a chance to review and sign off on them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Excellent.  Was there anything else, Glynda?”</p><p> </p><p>She shook her head.  “I believe that’s all for now.  I’ll leave you to your essays,” she added with a small, coy smile, before she turned and headed for the elevator, her heeled boots clicking against the glass floor before she exited.  Once she was gone, he allowed himself a smile and a chuckle of his own before taking another sip from his mug and reaching for the files she’d left.  There were some days when he didn’t know what he would do without her.</p><p> </p><p>Reviewing the sparring and academic rankings didn’t take long, even with four classes worth of students to go through.  The updated rankings came out every two weeks so that the students knew exactly where they stood and what areas they needed to focus on in order to improve.  There was rarely any drastic shifting amongst the rankings unless a student suddenly awoke their Semblance or showed significant improvement in their aura management or developed a new weapon modification.</p><p> </p><p>Oobleck’s incident report was thoroughly documented, and while the incident itself was concerning, Ozpin was satisfied with how the situation had been resolved.  He made a mental note to keep an eye on those particular students for a while.  The two students in question weren’t on the same team, so there was less incentive for them to work out their differences the way they would have to if they were living and working together.</p><p> </p><p>With his administrative tasks finished for the time being, he turned his attention to the essays he’d collected earlier.  He didn’t do much direct teaching anymore – being Headmaster of Beacon, as well as holding a seat on the Vale Council didn’t leave him much time to spend in the classroom after all – but after several years of watching his youngest students struggle through the introductory philosophy classes with various levels of success, he’d taken matters into his own hands.</p><p> </p><p>The first- and second-year students were generally between seventeen and nineteen years old, depending on when their birthdays fell in the year.  They were old enough to begin to grasp the higher-level critical thinking required of a philosophy class, but they didn’t have enough life experiences to fully engage with hypotheticals and debates.  However, although they often pretended to deny it, they were still young enough to respond to fairy tales and folklore.</p><p> </p><p>Due to the many millennia he’d been walking the face of Remnant – as well as the perfect memory that seemed to be an aspect of the curse that the Brothers had bestowed on him – Ozpin had a great store of fairy tales and fables that he could access at will.  After a great deal of thought and carefully sifting through the vast store of fables he knew, he’d developed both a curriculum and a textbook that combined an introduction to philosophy with literary analysis and history by using fairy tales and fables as the basis of analysis.</p><p> </p><p>Being a Huntsman or Huntress wasn’t just about combat skills, after all.  The reason that he had founded the Academies in his previous incarnation as the last King of Vale was not only to train skilled warriors, but also to educate them, to get them used to working together, no matter what culture or background they came from.  That was why students took classes in history, mathematics, and the sciences in addition to Grimm Studies and combat classes, and why teams were assigned randomly – to force different personalities to work together.</p><p> </p><p>Fairy tales were excellent sources of lessons and morals, as well as historic and literary records that developed over time and cultural deviation.  He used the same textbook for both the first years and the second years, but the approach to the class was different, depending on which group he was teaching.  In their first year, they discussed the stories in a broad, obvious overview of the lessons and morals, while in the second year, he began teaching the students how to deep dive into a text and extract concepts that might not be obvious at first glance.</p><p> </p><p>Fortunately, the class had proven to be successful the first year he had implemented it, so he had continued with it.  It gave him some time in the classroom, since he still viewed himself as a teacher in this incarnation, first and foremost, without detracting from his other responsibilities.  He had been considering expanding the class to the third- and fourth-year students as well.  The upperclassmen spent less time in the classroom and more time on actual training missions in the field – but it could be a way to recruit more allies among the older students.</p><p> </p><p>It was something to consider further, at any rate.</p><p> </p><p>As the Headmaster of Beacon, he didn’t really get to enjoy a weekend in the same way his students did.  He had many hats to wear, after all – headmaster, politician, councilor, huntsman, leader of a secret cabal dedicated to the protection of humanity – and if there weren’t administrative tasks related to Beacon to deal with, there were often Council matters to attend to, since the business of running a Kingdom didn’t stop on Friday afternoons any more than running a boarding school for Huntsmen- and Huntresses-in-training did.</p><p> </p><p>He devoted his attention to making his way through the essays, alternating turning pages with sips from his mug, the <em>ticking </em>of the clockwork around him creating a soothing, familiar sound.  Despite the many lives he’d lived, he enjoyed subtle reminders about the passing of time and the reminder that it was both fleeting and precious.  The sounds of clockwork, the chiming of bells…</p><p> </p><p>Until a faint crackle, like that of electricity building in the air interrupted his concentration as a surge of energy went down his spine.  A <em>familiar</em> surge.</p><p> </p><p><em>Magic</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He immediately dropped the essay he was reading, one hand grasping the handle of Long Memory, the other reaching for his scroll as he rose to his feet.  He hadn’t felt magic this strong in many years, and that in and of itself was concerning.  There were only six people on Remnant who had the ability to use magic without Dust – the four Maidens, himself… and <em>Salem</em>.  He knew the <em>feeling</em> of magic – he could identify its user just by the way the power <em>felt</em>.  He hadn’t consciously decided to use his own magic, so he wasn’t the one causing this.</p><p> </p><p>He moved around to the front of his desk, Long Memory held in a low guard.  He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he wasn’t going to be unprepared if this was some new attack from Salem.  It would be a bold move on her part if it were – thus far, she hadn’t dared to assault the Huntsman Academies directly nor did she have the forces to overcome all of the teachers and students at once.</p><p> </p><p>The strength of the magic continued to build, and Ozpin knew that <em>something</em> would have to break sooner or later.  The pressure of the magic was almost tangible against his skin.  He was reluctant to utilize his own magic, but he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.  Doing so would risk revealing the extent of his powers to teachers and students who knew nothing about his shadow war with Salem, his magic…</p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of absolute calm and pressure – like the moment right before a pending storm breaks.</p><p> </p><p>A brilliant flash of white and green light had him bringing his arm up to shield his eyes, even as his other hand tightened on Long Memory’s handle.  Fortunately, the flash didn’t last long, and he quickly looked around to see what had happened in that moment of blindness.</p><p> </p><p>There was now something lying in the middle of his office, but he couldn’t quite tell exactly what it was, as there was a distortion effect caused by a dome of crackling green, gold, and white energy – magic – that surrounded the object.  Green, gold, and white were colors of life and creation and the dome was almost <em>exactly</em> like the shields he could create in combat if his Semblance proved to not be enough to allow him to defend himself from an attack.</p><p> </p><p>But even more important than the crackling colors of the dome was the fact that this magic had an… echo?  A resonance?... to his own magic, which was confusing, since he had not called upon his own magic in many years – not since the day he had given some of it to Qrow and Raven.  So how had a dome – seemingly of his own magic – appeared inside his office without him conjuring it?  And what was it protecting?  He started to step forward, trying to get a better look at whatever was inside the dome, knowing he might possibly have to dispel it himself, when something in the air <em>shifted</em> again, and there was another surge of magic.</p><p> </p><p>Tendrils of black and red lightning began to crawl all over the surface of the dome, lashing it as if looking for a weak spot.  Ozpin knew immediately that <em>this</em> magic – those tendrils of black and red – those were <em>hers</em>.  The feeling of darkness and destruction was as obvious to him as looking outside a window and seeing a blue sky or green grass would be.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin edged just slightly closer to the dome but was careful to keep his distance.  Just as he could recognize Salem’s magic for what it was, he knew that <em>she</em> could recognize <em>his</em> – and that black lightning spelled death for whatever it touched.  He didn’t dare get close enough to it for her to detect his presence and possibly turn it on him.  Magically, she was stronger than he was.  He was no longer truly <em>Ozma</em> and didn’t command the full powers that the legendary hero once had.</p><p> </p><p>The lightning continued to lash at the dome, but despite the way the colors flickered and changed from green to gold to white with each blow, the shield held strong against the assault, sheltering whatever it was that lay in the middle of the floor.  Whatever it was, it remained motionless, so Ozpin wasn’t able to tell if it was an object or a person.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed to take a short eternity, but eventually he could sense the dark power beginning to weaken.  The lightning crawling across the dome wasn’t striking with the same force or frequency as it had been, which proved to be a good thing, as Ozpin could tell that the shield was also beginning to weaken.  Fortunately, the lighting was failing faster than the protective magic.</p><p> </p><p>The elevator door slid open and Glynda rushed into his office, The Disciplinarian brandished as if she were expecting an attack.  “Ozpin?!  Are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“Glynda, stay back!” Ozpin snapped, holding up his free hand.  He didn’t want her to move any closer and possibly get injured, since he wasn’t close enough to her to shield her without utilizing his own magic, and that could draw the attention of the black lightning – draw <em>her</em> attention, and he couldn’t conjure two shields at once.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda followed his orders, staying back near the elevator doors, her riding crop raised defensively, as they both watched the dome.  With a final, seemingly desperate surge of power, the lightning died completely.</p><p> </p><p>It could have just been Ozpin’s imagination, but in that moment, he thought he heard an angered, feminine scream of rage echoing in the distance.  The dome remained in place for another thirty seconds before the green/gold/white energy flickered once, twice, and then collapsed in on itself.  The sense of resonating magic vanished along with the dome and the air in the office again grew still, replaced by the distinct scent of blood and a sharp odor of charged electricity, like the air after a lightning strike.</p><p> </p><p>With the protective dome gone, Ozpin could now make out more details of what it had sheltered throughout the magical lightning attack.  It was… a boy, lying face-down on the ground.  Smallish – around five and a half feet if Ozpin were to guess, with messy, short black hair and tan skin.  He moved closer and dropped to his knees beside the boy, laying Long Memory on the ground within easy reach as he extended one hand towards the body and rested three fingers at the pulse point of the throat.  It took a moment, but he found the boy’s pulse – thready, but rapid.  The smell of blood was prevalent enough to tell him that the boy was seriously wounded.</p><p> </p><p>Many lifetimes of experience with fighting and wound care had given Ozpin a fairly strong knowledge base in medical and first aid skills.  While it was true that aura could heal most wounds and damage, given enough time, there were some cases when medical intervention was necessary since it wouldn’t be safe or advisable to allow aura to work on its own.  As a warrior, huntsman, and now Headmaster, Ozpin had been careful to make sure that his medical skills didn’t atrophy from lack of use.  When one dealt with young, headstrong teenagers who had access to powerful explosives, Dust, and blades… well, it kept him on his toes.</p><p> </p><p>“Ozpin, are you alright?” Glynda asked again, lowering her riding crop slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, Glynda.”  He looked back down at the body in front of him.  “Help me.”</p><p> </p><p>She moved immediately over to the body, dropping to her knees across from Ozpin.  “What is going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not entirely sure,” Ozpin said.  He carefully ran his hands down the boy’s neck and spine, wanting to make sure that there weren’t any injuries that would prevent him from moving the boy.  There was a subtle shudder, along with a faint whimper from the boy, but it seemed to be more from the contact itself, and less from Ozpin touching an actual injury.  Finding no damage to the neck or spine, he cupped the back of the boy’s neck in his hand.  “We need to roll him over.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda positioned herself to help and together the two of them rolled the boy over onto his back, carefully keeping his neck in alignment.  The boy groaned again at the movement, but Ozpin was able to get a better look at him.  No more than sixteen years old, but probably younger, given the slight roundness of his cheeks, his height, and the wideness of his eyes – his face hadn’t slimmed out with age and maturity yet.  If Ozpin were to take a guess, he would say that the boy hadn’t hit his final growth spurt yet, so he was probably closer to fourteen or fifteen.</p><p> </p><p>He wore a thigh-length, olive green-colored combat coat with red shoulder pads and decorative straps around his upper arms.  His hands were covered with orange battle gloves, and he had black supportive wristbands that crossed over and around themselves to go halfway up his forearm, although his wrists were tightly bound in front of him with thick strips of fabric which was tinted reddish-brown in places.  His trousers were black, with stiff, darker patches that Ozpin suspected were dried blood.</p><p> </p><p>His face was covered in bruises and cuts, as if he’d been beaten, and one eye was puffy and so swollen that Ozpin suspected the boy wouldn’t be able to open it, even if he were conscious.  His lower lip was split and there was dried blood along the corner of his mouth.  There were more bruises around the upper half of his throat just below his jaw – four smaller ones and one large one, as if someone had held the boy by the throat – possibly to choke him – and if there were similar bruises on the lower part of his neck, they were concealed by the dirty bandages he wore there.</p><p> </p><p>But by far the worst injury was exposed on the boy’s chest.  His olive-green coat and the white shirt he wore beneath the coat were charred black and spattered with blood.  Ozpin carefully pulled the side of the coat away, wanting to get a better look at the wound, wincing when the fabric stuck to the boy’s chest as if it had been melted into his skin.  The skin beneath was severely burned and blistered.  The boy’s breathing was raspy and labored, whether from illness, injury to the muscles or lungs, or simple pain, Ozpin couldn’t be sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Glynda, call for an ambulance.  We need to get this boy to a hospital.”  He placed one hand on the boy’s forehead, recoiling slightly at the heat coming from the skin.  At the very least, he had a fever, although that could have been caused by his body being overtaxed by the injuries as easily as it could be from illness.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda went for her scroll immediately, as Ozpin continued to look the boy over.  He was so gravely wounded, and there was no way to tell if he had any internal injuries without him being looked over by a doctor, but for his wounds to be this severe, his aura had to be completely depleted, else it would be healing him, or at least helping to stabilize his wounds.</p><p> </p><p> “How will you explain his sudden appearance?” Glynda asked. </p><p> </p><p>“A teleportation Semblance, I think,” Ozpin said after a moment of thought.  “He looks to be old enough to be enrolled at a combat school, so he could be old enough to have unlocked his Semblance.  If he was being attacked and activated it in desperation, it may have just taken him somewhere random.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked at him seriously.  “What actually happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not entirely sure,” Ozpin said, reaching for the boy’s wrists and carefully removing the blood-spattered strips that bound them.  “I was grading essays and he simply appeared here, surrounded by that magical shield.”</p><p> </p><p>“Magic?”  Glynda asked.  “Was it <em>her</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“That lightning was definitely her,” Ozpin said firmly.  “But how she managed to reach this far…”  He shook his head.  “It was a display of power that I’ve never seen from her before – and it concerns me.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda’s scroll beeped.  “An ambulance will be here in just a few minutes,” she said, rising to her feet.  “I’ll get Oobleck and Port to clear the courtyard – no point in feeding the rumor mill any more than necessary – and I’ll escort the medics up.  Will you be okay watching him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Ozpin assured her, moving one hand back to the boy’s head.  He could still sense a lingering echo of magic surrounding the boy, and he wanted to try to pinpoint it if he could, especially since it was fading quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda nodded and strode briskly to the elevator again, her scroll already up near her ear – presumably to call the other two professors to assist her in clearing the courtyard.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin closed his eyes and concentrated on those remaining traces of magic – they were so faint, so subtle… layered all around the boy, in fact.  He could clearly detect traces of Salem’s darker magic, especially centered around the burn on the boy’s chest, but he’d already known those would be there.  No, what interested him more were the traces that resonated with his own magic.  They didn’t have the elemental <em>tint</em> that would have allowed him to pinpoint that the shield had come from one of the Maidens, but those colors were clearly of the light, rather than the dark.</p><p> </p><p>There was little doubt in Ozpin’s mind – the magic that had protected this boy was <em>his own</em>… but how was that possible?  Ozpin had never seen this boy in his life, and magic had to be deliberately cast.</p><p> </p><p>The boy groaned again, his head lolling to the side slightly beneath Ozpin’s hand, just before those wide eyes opened, revealing a hint of hazel irises.  “Ozzzz,” he slurred.  “<em>Hurts.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Sshh,” Ozpin soothed the boy, although he was more than a little surprised that the first word out of the boy’s mouth was the derivative of his own name.  “It will be alright.  Help is coming.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy whimpered, before coughing weakly.  His breathing was becoming more labored now that he was regaining consciousness and he was becoming more aware of the pain he was feeling.  Ozpin wished there were something he could do, but magic had never been particularly well-attuned for healing, and first aid alone wouldn’t help the boy when he needed a fully equipped hospital emergency room and trained doctors.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s your name?” Ozpin asked quietly, hoping to get some information, and distract the child from his wounds.  Surely the ambulance would be here any moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Os-” he coughed again, whimpering.  “ ‘m Oscar.  D-did you f-frget?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar.  All right, Oscar,” Ozpin said.  “It’ll be okay.  Just take slow breaths.  Help will be here soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“D-don’t let her hurt us ‘gain,” Oscar slurred, trying to curl in on himself, only to be stopped by Ozpin resting one hand on his shoulder and one on his knee and pressing him back down.</p><p> </p><p>“She won’t,” Ozpin promised gently.  He was fairly sure that the boy was speaking of Salem, given the magical attack he’d been involved in.  But the question was, how had such a young boy drawn her ire?</p><p> </p><p>The elevator doors opened again and Glynda led a pair of medics into the office.  One of them was carrying a backboard, while the other was carrying several kits of supplies.  They took one look at the scene before getting to work.  Ozpin reached for Long Memory, retracted it, and slipped it onto his belt before moving out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ozzz,</em>” the boy slurred again, one of his hands reaching out for something.  “D-don’t g-”</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at one of the medics, who nodded, before he dropped back down to the boy’s side.  “I’m here, Oscar.”</p><p> </p><p>He stayed close while the medics did their work.  Oscar whimpered and moaned a few times as they checked his wounds and provided what aid they could to keep him stable.  One of the medics laid the backboard on the ground.  “Let’s get him on this and into the ambulance.”  She glanced at Ozpin.  “Will you be riding with him?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded.</p><p> </p><p>The medic leaned over to meet Oscar’s eyes.  “We’re going to get you out of here, Oscar,” she said gently.  “We’re going to roll you over so I can slide the backboard underneath you, and then we’ll get you into the ambulance and head for the hospital.  Just stay as still as you can.”</p><p> </p><p>She and her partner log-rolled Oscar onto his side as gently as they could, wary of the injuries to his wrists and chest, before moving the backboard into position and lowering him down.  The boy was tense, and his breathing seemed to be shallow and rapid – more so than it had been up to this point, but it was unclear whether it was from pain or fear.  Once he was in place, the two medics moved to strap him down so he wouldn’t slide off the backboard.</p><p> </p><p>At the first touch of the straps, however, Oscar’s breathing sped up even more.  “No – no, pl’se,” he managed between gasps.  “D-don’t.”  His hands were shaking as he tried ineffectually to push the medic away.  “C-can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay, Oscar.  Calm down.  Slow, deep breaths.  We’re not going to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” the boy moaned.  “No, d-n’t… no res-r-nts.”  He coughed, his breathing becoming more labored.  “Ple’se.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll remove them as soon as we can,” Ozpin assured the boy.  “We just need to make sure you’re safe until we get to the hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s hazel eyes were blown wide with fear as the medics continued to strap him down.  The look of utter terror and fear on his face tugged at Ozpin’s heart.  He reached out and rested one hand on the boy’s forehead.  “It will be okay, Oscar.  Just breathe.”  He moved his hand from the boy’s forehead down to his hand, wrapping it in his larger one.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to go,” the female medic said, giving one more tug on the strap which crossed over Oscar’s waist to make sure it was snug without being constricting.  Her partner was gathering their things together as she spoke.  Once all of their gear was packed away, they stood before picking up the backboard.  Ozpin stood as they lifted the boy, keeping his hand entwined with the child’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Glynda, will you - ?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got things handled here,” she interrupted.  “Go.  Let me know what happens when you get a moment to spare.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded.  “I will.”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>Of course, things were never that simple.</p><p> </p><p>The ride on the air ambulance to the hospital had its own difficulties to deal with – all revolving around Oscar.  The boy continued to beg and protest the restraints, tears pooling in his eyes as he squirmed as much as his injuries and the straps permitted.  Ozpin stayed with him, trying to comfort him, but the longer he was strapped down, the more anxious he became.  Oscar’s anxiety and fear didn’t help his physical condition either, as his breathing became more labored and each movement pulled at his wounds, causing him further pain and anxiety.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin had never liked seeing children in pain, and even though Oscar was not his son nor one of his students, he couldn’t leave the boy alone to suffer – Salem’s apparent interest in him and his mysterious appearance notwithstanding.  So he sat beside the stretcher and held one of Oscar’s hands in his own while the other hand carded through the boy’s sweat and blood-dampened hair, trying to soothe him and comfort him.</p><p> </p><p>Arrival at the hospital was a blur of activity as Oscar was whisked back to a treatment room, leaving Ozpin to wait for news.  He had anticipated as much and found a quiet corner of the waiting room, pulling out his scroll.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Ozpin</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Glynda, can you check with the local combat schools and see if they have any record of a missing student named Oscar matching our strange visitor’s description?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Glynda</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve already reached out to the administrations at Pharos and Signal – waiting for a response from them.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Ozpin</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Excellent.  Keep me appraised.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Glynda</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Of course.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>After that, it was a simple matter of waiting for news.  He had no doubt that someone from the Vale Police Department would arrive soon to take his statement – a child had been attacked, and the hospital would report it even if he had not intended to do so himself.  Glynda may have already made the call and advised them that Ozpin was heading for the hospital since she was efficient in that way.</p><p> </p><p>He was well-known in Vale, being both a Headmaster and a Councilman – but he was also a Huntsman.  Huntsmen rarely needed the service of a hospital since they had aura available to them, and while <em>everyone</em> in Remnant had aura and a Semblance, it was much less likely for someone who wasn’t a Huntsman or Huntress to be able to utilize their aura or Semblance effectively when it came to wounds.  So the side-long glances that people threw at him didn’t faze him, since he recognized their curiosity for what it was.</p><p> </p><p>He took a seat, pulling out Long Memory and resting it on the floor in front of him, his hands folded over the pommel while he waited for someone to either speak to him or for Glynda to get back to him regarding her inquires to the Vale combat schools.  His thoughts turned inward, as much to keep his mind off the fact that he was in a <em>hospital</em> waiting room as to try to piece together the problem that young Oscar represented.</p><p> </p><p>Why would Salem’s ire have been focused on such a young boy?  What could he have done to even draw her attention in the first place?  While it was true that the Academies were a target for her due to the fact that they sheltered the Relics, she shouldn’t have any reason to target the primary combat schools.</p><p> </p><p>Then there was the fact of the magic.  <em>His</em> magic, which shouldn’t have happened.  Magic didn’t work that way.  It took a conscious decision to use it under most cases, or emotional stress to such a degree that he lost all control.  He hadn’t consciously chosen to use his magic to shield Oscar and reading first-year essays wasn’t stressful.</p><p> </p><p>“Professor Ozpin?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin looked up, drawn from his thoughts at the sound of his name to see a doctor standing in front of him with a large tablet.  “Yes?”  He braced Long Memory and rose to his feet.  “How is the boy?  Oscar?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re working on stabilizing him,” the doctor said.  “We need parental consent to treat him since he’s underage…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid we don’t have that at the moment,” Ozpin replied.  “He unexpectedly teleported into my office at Beacon – I believe he may have lost control of his Semblance when he was attacked.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know him?” the doctor – whose nametag read <em>Dr. Laurel Ashburn</em> – asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I never saw him before this afternoon,” Ozpin replied.  “He’s not a Beacon student – he’s too young.  My deputy headmistress – Professor Goodwitch – is working on checking with Pharos Academy and Signal Academy to see if he may be enrolled there.  However, if you must have an adult’s permission to proceed with his treatment, I am prepared to take responsibility for him as a member of the Council until we are able to locate his family since I called it in.”</p><p> </p><p>The doctor hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded.  “Very well.”  She handed him a tablet.  “Sign here please, and we’ll be able to take him in for surgery.”</p><p> </p><p>“What exactly is wrong with him?” Ozpin asked, taking the tablet from her, and reading over the form displayed there.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not in good shape,” Ashburn admitted.  “He was severely beaten – possibly over a period of at least a day, but it’s hard to tell since he does have an active aura, even if it’s drained at the moment.  We’ve already found several broken ribs and indications of internal bleeding, as well as a punctured lung, which is why we need to get him into surgery so we can set his ribs and get his lung patched up and the bleeding stopped.  He also has a severe burn on his chest that we’ll need to treat before it gets infected.  We’re currently giving him fluids as well, since he was dehydrated.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin signed his name to the tablet, just before his own scroll vibrated in his waist-coat pocket.  He handed the tablet back to the doctor and pulled it out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Glynda</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve heard from Pharos and Signal.  Neither school has a student named Oscar at the moment, nor are they missing any of their students.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Ozpin</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s concerning.  Let’s expand the search to the other combat schools in the other Kingdoms.  Given how he arrived, we shouldn’t assume that he’s from Vale.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Glynda</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Of course.  I’ll let you know what they say.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It seems that Oscar is not from one of the Vale combat schools,” Ozpin informed the doctor, slipping his scroll back into his pocket.  “We’re expanding the search to the other combat schools – it’s possible that stress caused the range of effect for his Semblance to be pushed much further than his conscious limit.”</p><p> </p><p>The doctor sighed.  “Alright.  Then we’ll get him into surgery and get him patched up.  The length of his recovery will depend on how quickly his aura can restore itself.”  With that, she turned and headed back towards the treatment rooms, leaving Ozpin to reclaim his seat and wait for news from Glynda or the doctor about Oscar.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin disliked hospitals.</p><p> </p><p>He knew and appreciated the value of what they had to offer, of course.  Not everyone had the same level of control over their aura as Huntsmen and Huntresses did, and some people <em>never</em> unlocked their aura.  For those people, hospitals were a necessity.</p><p> </p><p>But it was rather different for Ozpin, who could – at will – recall any number of ways to die.  And when one of his oldest and most painful memories was lying in a bed, weakening slowly, and feeling as if he couldn’t breathe, while Salem bathed his forehead with a cool cloth and begged him to stay with her…</p><p> </p><p>Such a memory didn’t predispose one to feel comfortable in a hospital, surrounded by sick and injured people.  It was iron will and a vast amount of patience born from millennia of walking Remnant that allowed him to keep his place in the waiting room and not get up to pace while he waited for news on young Oscar.</p><p> </p><p>As he had expected, an officer came by to take his statement about the incident, and Ozpin promised to follow up with them once Oscar was able to talk, which seemed to satisfy the officer for the time being.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda had texted him further to let him know that the students had been corralled, but rumors were already beginning to circulate around campus – ranging from two students getting into a severe enough fight that not only were their auras depleted but they had seriously hurt each other, to Ozpin himself becoming ill and needing to be rushed to the hospital instead of Glynda calling the campus nurse.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that was enough to divert his attention for a few minutes, and he sent back instructions for her to send out a mass notification to the staff and students that everything was under control, that he was perfectly healthy, and that more news would be sent at a later date.  Hopefully, that would quell the school’s grapevine.</p><p> </p><p>The combat schools in the other kingdoms were beginning to respond to Glynda’s inquiries, but so far, they hadn’t had any luck in locating a boy who fit Oscar’s description – although given that he had somehow managed to get involved with Salem, Ozpin was becoming more convinced that he wasn’t a student at all.  But if he wasn’t a student, then how…?</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, it was all tied back to the magic, but even that explanation didn’t make sense given Ozpin’s extensive knowledge of the subject.  He retreated into his own thoughts again, probing at the oldest memories he had, wondering if he had somehow forgotten something that could provide the answer to this mystery.</p><p> </p><p>It was several hours of waiting before the sound of footsteps drew his attention out of his thoughts.  The same doctor as before – Dr. Ashburn – approached, her tablet in her hands.  He pushed himself to his feet again.  “Doctor.  How is he?”</p><p> </p><p>She sighed.  “He came through surgery, but he’s looking at a long recovery.  The damage was far more extensive than we initially thought once we ran more scans and tests.  On their own, none of the injuries were particularly serious, and if his aura had been functioning, the damage would have healed in a short time without too much trouble.  But the cumulative effect of the injuries, and the fact that his aura was shattered and hasn’t been able to recover yet has only complicated his condition.  We’ll have to monitor him closely, and we may have to administer aura suppressants until his wounds heal on their own a little more.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aura suppressants?” Ozpin said with a frown.  “Is that really going to be necessary?”  He knew that aura suppressants were an accepted form of medical treatment for severely injured Huntsmen who couldn’t recover on their own without outside intervention – but the idea of having to give them to a <em>child</em>…</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not sure,” the doctor replied.  “His injuries are so wide-spread, depending on how practiced he is with his aura, he may do himself more harm than good trying to heal the damage himself.”  She tapped on her tablet a few times.  “He’s in post-op recovery now, but we’ll be moving him to a room shortly.”  She looked up.  “Has there been any word on locating his family?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not as yet,” Ozpin replied.  “Under the circumstances, I’ll remain available until we locate his family.  However, given the information I have at the moment, we may have to wait until we can speak to Oscar himself.”</p><p> </p><p>Ashburn nodded.  “Alright.  I’ll have a nurse take you up to his room as soon as he’s been moved out of recovery.  It shouldn’t be more than another hour or so until we can move him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Doctor.”</p><p> </p><p>The doctor nodded and turned away, no doubt heading to her next patient.  Ozpin sighed and turned back, intending to retake his seat, when he saw the front door opening and Glynda entering the hospital.  She took a look around, spotted him, and moved briskly to his side.  “Glynda?”</p><p> </p><p>“The other teachers are keeping an eye on the campus,” Glynda said immediately.  “I’m still waiting to hear back from the combat schools in Vacuo, but the Atlas and Mistral schools have all responded – no one is missing any students.  I also reached out to Leo, James, and Theodore – none of their students are unaccounted for.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded.  “I didn’t honestly expect that he was a combat school student, given the way he arrived, but we need to explore all possible options.  What I don’t understand is what he would have done to draw her attention.”  He tapped the tip of Long Memory against the white tile floor thoughtfully.  “<em>She</em> isn’t one to target random children without a purpose behind her actions.”</p><p> </p><p>“So this boy could have vital information?” Glynda asked, eyebrow raising slightly as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“I believe so,” Ozpin said.  “Before you arrived with the medics, he said ‘Don’t let her hurt us again’.  There may be another child in danger – as well as someone we might be able to save if Oscar can give us the information in time.”  He looked at her seriously.  “I intend to stay here, at least until I’m able to speak with him.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda nodded, as if she had expected that, before she handed him a folder.  “I took the liberty of gathering up the essays you were working on,” she said with a coy smile.  “Something to occupy your mind, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin levelled a stern look at her over the top of his glasses before reaching out and taking the folder from her, his lips quirking up into a small smile of his own.  “You know me far too well.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve worked with you for long enough,” Glynda agreed.  “You’ll let me know if you need anything else, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“Professor Ozpin?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin turned around and saw a nurse approaching.  “Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor Ashburn said you would be staying overnight with the boy that was brought in?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, until we locate his family and someone else can arrive to take charge of him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come with me, and I’ll take you up to his room.  We’re moving him out of recovery now, but it will probably be some time before he wakes up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.”  He glanced back at Glynda.  “You’re fine with overseeing the campus tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.”  Glynda made a shooing motion.  “Go.  I’ll see you tomorrow and I’ll let you know if any more information about the boy comes in.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded and followed the nurse towards the elevator and up to the fifth floor, then down the hallway to a small room.  The boy – Oscar – was lying tucked under the clean sheets, still unconscious, but looking better now that he’d been cleaned up and his scorched combat coat had been removed.</p><p> </p><p>White bandages were wrapped around his chest, no doubt covering the burn that Ozpin had noticed, and a thin tube snaked up his body into his nose from an oxygen tank that was positioned behind the bed.  His left eye was still puffy and swollen, and the spectacular bruise around it likely wouldn’t go away for several days, unless the boy woke up and was able to direct his aura to healing it.  Some other monitoring equipment was arranged around the head of the bed as well.</p><p> </p><p>“The nurse on duty will be coming by regularly, but if you notice any signs that he may be in distress or waking up, don’t hesitate to call for someone,” the nurse told him before turning and leaving the room.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded and took the padded chair that was sitting next to the bed, studying the body more closely with the leisure of time now that he’d been tended to.  He had messy, straight black hair – a little longer in the front than in the back – and quite a few freckles scattered across his cheeks, although they were slightly hidden under the spectacular bruising.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, he looked younger lying in the bed than he had when he was sprawled on the floor of Ozpin’s office.  It was more evident that he was still a <em>young</em> teenager – fifteen years old at most, if Ozpin was any judge of such things.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the file of essays that Glynda had given him, pulling a pen out of his jacket pocket, prepared to get back to his grading task while he waited… but his eyes drifted one more time over to the boy in the bed.  Salem had hurt him, if what he had said in Ozpin’s office was true – and that was unforgiveable.  It woke the slow burn of hatred deep inside him.  The hatred wasn’t something he dwelled on often, forcefully tucked deep inside his combined souls along with any slight trace of love that he may still feel for her, but to assault an innocent child like this?  No.</p><p> </p><p>Some things couldn’t be forgiven, no matter how much time passed or what their reason.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, clamping down on the building rage as best he could.  All he could do now was watch over Oscar and protect him until he woke.  Then he would get his answers.  With any luck, Salem wouldn’t be able to trace him to Beacon, or to Ozpin, and whatever information Oscar held would be of use in countering her next moves.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Distress and Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The next morning…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Ozpin removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  A chair in a hospital room – no matter how well padded it might be – wasn’t the most comfortable place to spend the night.  A faint headache was beginning to form between his temples from the lack of sleep – not an unusual occurrence, given the number of careers he juggled on a daily basis, but working late into the night wasn’t the same thing as sitting at the side of a hospital bed without any sleep at all.</p><p> </p><p>Grading the remainder of the first-year essays hadn’t taken long, and once that task had been completed, he had turned his attention to his scroll.  He had several trusted agents in the field, so he had sent carefully worded messages, asking for updates on the enemy’s movements.  Since it was becoming more evident that Oscar wasn’t from one of the four Academies or any of the primary combat schools, he was either from somewhere beyond the Kingdom or Salem had grown bold enough to abduct a child from within the safety of the walls of one of the Kingdoms.  If the latter, then there would be some trace of him: a missing child report, a reported runaway… something useful.</p><p> </p><p>Throughout the night, reports slowly trickled in from his agents.  Everything seemed… well, normal.  There were no unusual surges of Grimm activity, and nothing that would indicate that Salem was preparing to make a move to try to break the eternal stalemate they were locked in.  She’d been quiet for almost eighty years – since the end of the Great War – and that alone was enough to make him suspicious since it was unlike her to remain passive for so long.</p><p> </p><p>He replaced his glasses and rose to his feet, desperate to move around and get the blood flowing back to his arms and legs.  His six foot-six-inch frame wasn’t meant for a small room like this, and it was even more crowded with the bed that contained Oscar and all of the monitoring equipment crammed into it.  A brisk walk around the hospital floor would help, but he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone until they managed to locate his family.  He’d prefer to have Oscar wake to someone familiar than have no one at all.  Whatever Salem's motivation for attacking Oscar may have been, she wouldn't allow him to slip out of her hands so easily.  The amount of danger the boy would be in would depend on if Salem had been able to sense Ozpin’s presence during her attack.</p><p> </p><p>Hours of waiting by the boy’s bedside had given Ozpin plenty of time to study him more closely.  He was definitely still a <em>young</em> teenager, given his short stature and the roundness of his cheeks – baby-faced, some would have said.  As a counterpoint, however, there was a surprising amount of muscle on his arms for someone of his age.  Freckles dotted his cheeks and were scattered up and down his arms where the skin was visible beneath the bandages and heavy bruising, and his skin was nicely tanned, most likely from long hours spent out in the sun.  Ozpin recalled seeing hazel eyes beneath the bruises and cuts which marred the boy’s face before he’d been whisked back to the treatment rooms, and the overall image was one of innocence, which made the sight of the injuries that had been done to him all the more upsetting.</p><p> </p><p>Now that he’d been cleaned up, there was also some scarring around his neck that Ozpin hadn’t previously noticed when he’d initially examined the boy in his office, but it didn’t seem to be the type of scarring he would have gotten from a fight or a Grimm attack.  The scars were relatively straight and isolated to one side of his throat, as well as being old, but they were still noticeable now that he’d been cleaned up and the bandages that had been there had been removed.</p><p> </p><p>A moan from the boy drew his attention and he stopped pacing and moved back to the side of the bed.  The boy’s face was twisted in pain and his breathing was becoming labored and rapid as a result.  Ozpin reached for the call bell and pressed it, his other hand resting on Oscar’s forehead, hoping to soothe him until help could arrive.</p><p> </p><p>Doctor Ashburn arrived within two minutes, a nurse in tow, and began checking the readings on the monitors.  “He’s starting to wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>“He seems to be in severe pain,” Ozpin offered.  “He had a few spells during the night, but they usually ended within a few moments.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s interesting, because his aura isn’t stabilizing as quickly as we’d hoped it might,” she replied, glancing at the monitor in question.  “His wounds are so extensive, and he’s somehow attempting to heal them subconsciously, which isn’t doing him any favors.”  She looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to the nurse.  “I need an aura suppressant – let’s start with the minimum effective dose and monitor him every hour to see how he responds.”  She glanced back at Oscar, whose breathing was continuing to increase as his face continued to twist in pain.  “Also, go ahead and increase his pain medication by two milligrams.”</p><p> </p><p>The nurse nodded and moved to the boy’s IV, adjusting the drip controls, and noting his chart before she left the room to retrieve the aura suppressant.</p><p> </p><p>“Is the aura suppressant really necessary?” Ozpin asked, skeptically.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Ashburn sighed.  “His aura isn’t stabilizing.  Suppressing it will prevent him from using it and give it a chance to recover on its own.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aura healing takes a conscious effort for all but the most experienced Huntsmen and Huntresses,” Ozpin argued.  “He’s a child.  He’s too young to have mastered the ability to direct his aura unconsciously or subconsciously.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then how do you explain the fact that he’s draining his aura as quickly as he recovers it?” Ashburn asked.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin didn’t have an answer to that question, because for a boy this young to have that level of ability… it was unheard of, and he’d seen hundreds – <em>thousands</em> – of students come through the Academies since they were founded eighty years ago.  Surely that couldn’t be enough of a reason for Salem to have taken an interest in Oscar… could it?</p><p> </p><p>The nurse re-entered the room with a narrow syringe, gloves, and a sterile swab and handed the items to Doctor Ashburn.  The doctor slipped the gloves on before swabbing the inside of Oscar’s elbow and injecting him.  “This is just a small dose – it’ll wear off completely within twelve hours.  He should be fully conscious by then, and that will be enough time for a good portion of his aura to recover naturally.  Once he’s awake, we can find out how skilled he is at aura healing.”</p><p> </p><p>Whether it was the larger dose of the pain medicine or the aura suppressant taking effect, Oscar’s breathing suddenly evened out, becoming less labored, and his face relaxed as he drifted back into unconsciousness.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor checked the rest of Oscar’s wounds quickly and efficiently before shaking her head.  “Who could do something like this to a <em>child</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I wish I knew,” Ozpin murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, at the moment he is looking at a long recovery, and it’s likely that there will be some scarring, especially on his chest where that burn is.  Once he’s conscious and his aura has restored itself to a satisfactory level, we’ll see if he can accelerate some of his own healing on some of the more severe wounds.  He should wake up in less pain with the increase to the dosage we just gave him, but if he seems to be in extreme pain again, just call for a nurse.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin nodded silently, returning to his chair as the doctor left the room.  The nurse moved around the room, taking care of a few more things before she left as well.  He pulled his scroll out of his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Ozpin</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I believe young Oscar may be waking up soon.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Glynda</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s good news.  I’ve heard from the remaining schools – he’s not one of their students.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Ozpin</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I was beginning to think as much.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Glynda</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m on my way.  I’d like to meet this young man and find out what’s going on.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sent her the room number before closing his scroll and putting the device back in his jacket pocket.  The boy represented a mystery – which usually didn’t bode well for the people of Remnant. Yet, other than Salem’s attack the day before, none of his agents could find <em>anything</em> indicating that she was preparing to make a move.  The uncertainty was enough to stir anxiety within him.  Salem could never be called <em>predictable</em>, but after so many millennia locked in a stalemate with her, there were some strategies that he had noticed she tended to employ more than others – sowing division amongst his allies being a favorite.</p><p> </p><p>It was perhaps another hour before he heard Oscar’s breathing increasing again.  It wasn’t as desperate or labored as it had been before, but it also wasn’t the steady, even breathing of someone who was waking peacefully.  He leaned closer to the bed and spoke quietly, hoping to calm the boy.  “It’s alright.  Just take slow breaths.  The pain will pass.”</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t seem like the boy had heard him.  His face was twisting again, and his breathing was becoming more rapid.  Ozpin couldn’t bear to see that look on the boy’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar.”</p><p> </p><p>The sound of his name seemed to give the boy something to focus on.  He turned his head slightly, as if trying to pinpoint Ozpin’s location based on his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t panic.  You’re going to be alright.”  He reached out and laid a hand on the boy’s forehead.  Still fevered, but much lower than it had been the day before.  “Just take a slow breath.”</p><p> </p><p>He could see Oscar trying to follow his instructions, so he <em>was</em> at least partially aware of his surroundings.  The fact that he was so responsive was encouraging.  He inhaled slowly, deeply, before a wince crossed his face, but managed to breathe out just as slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.  Again.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda slipped into the room as he coaxed the boy through several more repetitions of the breathing exercise and stood near the door, watching the scene.  Finally, the lines of pain eased from Oscar’s features and the boy turned his head again.  “Are you feeling better now?  Do you think you can open your eyes?”</p><p> </p><p>Brothers bless him, but the boy tried.  He struggled for several seconds, but between the swelling on his face and the grime and grit crusted around his eyes, he failed.  He attempted to raise his arm, to bring his hand up to rub them, but could only raise it a few inches before he whimpered in pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Sssh… it’s going to be okay,” Ozpin said.  “Here…”  He removed his hand and stood again, crossing the room to the small bathroom.  He took a washcloth and dampened it with warm water under the faucet before returning to the bedside.  He placed the damp cloth over the boy’s face, but he flinched, pulling in on himself in clear fear.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to startle you.  It’s just a wet washcloth, to clean off the grit near your eyes.”  He lifted the cloth away and gave Oscar a chance to calm himself.  Once the tension in Oscar’s body had eased, Ozpin placed the wet cloth against the boy’s cheek, giving him a chance to adjust to the warmth.  After several seconds in which the boy didn’t tense up again, he moved the cloth to Oscar’s eyes again, gently wiping the grit and dirt away.  He took special care with the boy’s swollen left eye, not wanting to cause any more damage.  “There you go.  Try now.”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>“He’s wak… up…”</p><p> </p><p>He <em>hurt</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“…seems… in pai… had a… spe… usually… moments…”</p><p> </p><p>He could hear movement, but something was <em>off</em> about it.  Someone was touching him, and he recoiled.  Touch was bad.  Touch <em>hurt</em>.  Touch meant feeling all the breath being knocked out of him, of his chest feeling like it was going to explode…</p><p> </p><p>“…aura… quic… hope… too exten…”</p><p> </p><p>There was something cold on the skin of his inner elbow before there was a sharp prick.  The cold sensation moved beneath the skin, rushing through him, pulling him back down into darkness, easing the pain in his head.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>drifted</em>…</p><p> </p><p>There was something <em>missing</em>…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m doing what I have to do to keep you safe.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Safe?  Was he safe?  Would he ever be safe again?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“So you’d just lock us away instead.  You’d keep us like a <strong>pet.  </strong>That isn’t freedom, yet that was all you ever wanted when I saved you from that tower.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Perhaps, but it will be safer for <strong>both</strong> of you.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Both?  Why both?  Who else was here with him?</p><p> </p><p>He drifted again.</p><p> </p><p>Darkness.  Warm.  Empty.</p><p> </p><p>Why empty?</p><p> </p><p>It shouldn’t be empty.</p><p> </p><p>Something was <em>missing</em>…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry, Oscar.  This wasn’t what I wanted for you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Pain was building up again.  It hurt.  Breathing hurt more.</p><p> </p><p>But… the air was different.  <em>Clean</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Where was the scent of ash and soot?  The odor of decaying flesh?  The coppery tang of his own blood and the sour smell of his own sweat?</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>His chest ached from the abuse he’d gone through.  It took everything he had not to curl up tightly to try to protect himself but that only made it harder to breathe.  The air was thick and heavy with the foul odors of ash, soot, and rot.  He felt like he’d been choking on it forever and it made him miss the clean air of his aunt’s farm, the smell of blooming flowers and growing crops.</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He was warm, and lying on something… soft?  That wasn’t right either.  The ground of his cell shouldn’t be <em>soft</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>A metal-tipped boot slammed into his stomach, sending him flying through the air.  His back impacted a protruding part of the wall first, sending a jolt of pain up his spine, before he crashed back down to the ground.  All the air rushed out of his lungs, making it even harder to breathe.</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s…right…low brea…”</p><p> </p><p>The pain was increasing again, and his chest ached.  Every breath pulled on his muscles, which only increased the pain he was feeling, and made his chest feel tight again.  It was like something was sitting on him… he couldn’t get a clear breath… his head was about to explode…</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar.”</p><p> </p><p>A… voice.  A voice he… knew?  He latched onto that voice, trying to focus on it.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t panic.  You’re going to be alright.”  Another hand, this one on his forehead, stroked through his hair.  The touch was gentle, like his aunt’s on the rare occasions when he was sick.</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em>… was familiar.  Yes.  He’d heard those instructions before.  <em>Don’t panic</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Just take a slow breath.”</p><p> </p><p>The voice was kind but firm.  It was familiar.  He inhaled, slowly, stopping at the point at which his chest began to burn with pain and slowly letting out the breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.  Again.”</p><p> </p><p>Another slow breath, another word of encouragement.  His heart rate was beginning to slow, and the pain in his chest was beginning to fade.  The pain in his head was also beginning to ebb, as long as he didn’t move any more than breathing required of him.  But something was still <em>missing</em>…</p><p> </p><p>“Are you feeling better?” the voice asked after several minutes of this, the hand still resting on his hair.  “Do you think you can open your eyes?”</p><p> </p><p>Could he?  He supposed it was worth a shot.  He concentrated and managed to open them a sliver, but they felt crusted over and heavy, and an attempt to raise his arm and rub them only reignited the ache in his chest.  He whimpered, wanting to curl in on himself, but his body wouldn’t move that way.</p><p> </p><p>“Sssh… it’s going to be okay,” the kind voice said.  “Here…” the hand stopped stroking through his hair, and he heard the sound of someone moving.  Footsteps – firm, but not heavy.  The sound of… running water?</p><p> </p><p>The footsteps were returning, moving closer.</p><p> </p><p>Something warm and wet on his face, near his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The touch caused an ache around his left eye and he whimpered, jerking his head away and reigniting a stab of pain in his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice said again.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.  It’s just a wet washcloth, to clean off the grit near your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>He hesitated, then slowly turned his head back towards the voice, even though his head ached again at the motion.</p><p> </p><p>Very gently the warm object touched his face, resting there for a moment to give him a chance to adjust to the sensation before moving up towards his eyes and bathing them. The grit weighing down his eyelids fell away under its ministrations.  The hand took extra care around his left eye for some reason, but after several moments the cloth was moved away.  “There you go.  Try now.”</p><p> </p><p>This time he was able to open his eyes – well, mostly.  His right eye flicked open, blinked several times to adjust to the low light in the room, before focusing… but his left eye only opened the slightest sliver.  He struggled to open it more, but the eyelid just wouldn’t move.  His breathing sped up, his chest aching… until the hand settled back on his forehead again.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright.  Don’t panic.  You have a rather spectacular black eye, so it may take some time before you can open it fully, but there wasn’t any damage to the eye itself.  Slow, deep breaths…”</p><p> </p><p>He managed to slow his breathing, his right eye sliding closed while he regained control of himself before he opened it again.  The strange, red flesh walls were gone.  Instead he was in a warm, bright room with ivory-colored walls.  Sunlight (actual <em>sunlight!</em>) was coming in through the window on the far side of the room.  He was lying… in a bed?  With an actual blanket on top of him and a pillow under his head?</p><p> </p><p>Very, very carefully, he turned his head to the left, where the voice was coming from, wanting to see who the voice belonged to.  His head speared with pain again, but already it was a bit less than it had been before.</p><p> </p><p>It took a moment to focus with only one eye before he made out the face of a middle-aged man with tousled silver hair.  Thin, dark-tinted lenses sat perched on his nose, but behind the frames were warm brown eyes.  He had never seen this man before… but he was <em>familiar</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“There you are,” the man said, a small smile flickering over his face.  “Good morning.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar blinked again.  “W-” he tried, his voice coming out as a strangled croak.  “Wh-”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.”  The man placed the damp cloth on the tray near the foot of the bed and picked up a cup and pitcher.  He poured a small amount of water into the cup before placing the pitcher back on the tray.  He slid a hand beneath Oscar’s shoulders, raising him up slightly and bringing the cup to his lips.  “Slowly,” the man cautioned.</p><p> </p><p>The cool water was heavenly.  Oscar couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something to drink.  It was tempting to try to gulp it down, but he didn’t have the energy to move that quickly.  He took several sips before the cup was pulled away and he was lowered back down.</p><p> </p><p>He lay there, breathing slowly for a moment.  He was so confused as to what was going on.  The last thing he remembered was being in that cell with Hazel and Salem…</p><p> </p><p>Had the others saved them?  Had Oz been right?  They’d chased after the Hound and somehow rescued him?  If so, where were they?  Where was he?  This didn’t look like Atlas or Mantle.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oz?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>There wasn’t any answer from the old wizard, which was unusual.  Oz had only ever been silent to his questions when he had been locked away in his self-imposed exile… but he had <em>promised</em> he would never lock himself away like that again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oz?  What’s going on? </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Still no response… and Oscar suddenly realized that he couldn’t even feel Oz’s emotions through their bond.  Even when Oz had been locked away, he had been able to tell that the wizard was still <em>there</em>, in his mind, Oscar just hadn’t been able to reach him.  But now… there was absolutely <em>nothing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You promised you wouldn’t abandon me again!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He felt hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and choked back a sob.  Why would Oz be quiet like this?  Had Salem done something to him?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry, Oscar.  Goodbye…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>That couldn’t be real, could it?</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” the man sitting beside the bed asked, and all of a sudden Oscar realized that his voice sounded familiar... but it couldn’t be… could it?</p><p> </p><p>“W-who a-are you?” he managed to get out past the growing lump in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“A proper introduction would seem to be in order,” the man agreed.  “Hello.  I’m Professor Ozpin of Beacon Academy.”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin wasn’t sure what he expected from Oscar, but it wasn’t to see tears welling up in his eyes.  The boy looked… <em>distraught</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Oz?” he croaked, blinking rapidly so that the tears traced damp furrows down his cheeks.  “Oz, no… no you didn’t… you promised you…”  His breathing was becoming harsh again as he vainly tried to choke back sobs.</p><p> </p><p>Even if he had used the derivative of Ozpin’s name the day before, he’d been delirious and in pain – and Ozpin <em>was</em> well-known in all four Kingdoms.  It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that the boy recognized him from a photo or an interview he may have done in the past.  But the emotion didn’t make sense, even taking the boy’s condition into account.  He’d never seen this boy before – he couldn’t have promised him anything.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, it’s okay,” Ozpin said, reaching a hand towards the boy.  Oscar pulled back, however, cringing away from him in utter terror.</p><p> </p><p>“This is a trick… you… no, this…”  Oscar’s breath was coming faster and ever more harshly.  “I… no, I won’t… nothing…”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re safe,” Ozpin began.  He reached just a little further to try and soothe the boy, but Oscar let out a wordless cry of denial.  His cry quickly devolved into heaving gasps for breath as he strained the injuries to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>The door opened and two nurses hurried in.  Ozpin snatched his hand backward as one of them snapped,  “What’s happening?”  The other nurse swiftly moved to boy’s side.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure,” Ozpin admitted worriedly.  “I introduced myself to him and… he panicked.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” the other nurse was trying to calm the boy, who was still desperately trying to catch his breath, which alternated between painful-sounding coughs and heaving gasps.  He sounded as if he was on the verge of hyperventilating, but he continued to pull away, swatting ineffectually at the nurse.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda moved to Ozpin’s side and pulled him back, out of the way.  The first nurse pulled out her scroll and made a call, and a few minutes later, Dr. Ashburn hurried back into the room, taking in the situation quickly.  “He’s going to end up tearing his lung again if we don’t calm him down.”  She snapped an order to the first nurse, who hurried out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you going to do?” Ozpin asked.</p><p> </p><p>“We're going to sedate him. Between the panic and his wriggling, he has a good chance of reopening his wounds or creating new ones," Ashburn replied quickly.</p><p> </p><p>"Sedation doesn't sound very good for him, either," Ozpin protested.</p><p> </p><p>"Keeping him sedated isn't ideal, but we need to keep him calm before he hurts himself."</p><p> </p><p>It would also keep Ozpin from getting answers from Oscar – and if Salem actually was looking for the boy, it would put him in more danger.  He looked back at the bed and the boy still struggling there.  “Wait.  Let me see if I can calm him down.”</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t risk –”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin moved back to the bed and took a seat on the edge of it.  “Oscar,” he said firmly.  “I need you to listen to me.”  He was acting on a supposition, based on the way the boy had responded to him earlier.   “Don’t panic.  We won’t hurt you.”  He reached out and pulled the boy upright, wrapping him in an embrace and pressing the boy’s head to his own chest.  “You’re safe.  She can’t hurt you anymore.  I won’t let her.”</p><p> </p><p>Whether it was his touch, his words, or just the fact that the boy’s manic energy was fading quickly, he could <em>feel</em> the boy’s breathing beginning to slow.  He kept one hand pressed to the back of his head, stroking his hair, and the other firmly, but gently, wrapped around his waist, trying not to put any pressure on his chest due to the broken ribs.</p><p> </p><p>“Slow, deep breath,” he urged, taking one himself and holding it for a moment before letting it out.  He did it again and felt the boy trying to copy him.  “That’s it.  Just breathe.  You’re safe.  She will <em>never</em> hurt you again.”</p><p> </p><p>Finally, the boy’s breathing calmed, and he sat shuddering in Ozpin’s arms.  “I – I can’t…”</p><p> </p><p>“Ssh…” Ozpin soothed him.  “You’re safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oz… why… why?” Oscar mumbled into his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know why this happened to you, Oscar,” Ozpin said softly,  “but we’re going to figure it out.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so this is a shorter chapter than the previous two... but it just felt like the right place to stop and my beta-reader agreed.  (Although she prefers short chapters to long ones, so...)</p><p>(Just kidding hun!  Thanks for the polishing help on this one!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Introspections</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Glynda was not at all surprised when – confronted with a hysterical, traumatized child – Ozpin moved immediately to comfort said child.  After all, his soft spot for children was well known amongst the staff at Beacon.  She had worked with him for close to twenty years at this point and had seen him counsel students about their future careers as Huntsmen and Huntresses, offer guidance on relationships, and discuss prejudice and bullying with both victim and abuser more than once.  His soft tone and ability to empathize with others usually won through where someone else’s more authoritarian nature wouldn’t, and the fact that he made sure his office was always open when someone needed to talk earned him the trust of others without him having to do anything more than make a simple offer.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, she had always known him to be an enigma to others.  The headmaster had the ability to be many different things at the same time, depending on who he was interacting with.  Whether this was a side effect of the many lives he had lived – a holdover from all the memories and vast experience he possessed – or simply a talent of who he was in <em>this</em> incarnation, Ozpin had a near-flawless ability to present whatever front people most needed to see at any given moment.</p><p> </p><p>To the other three Kingdoms, he was a well-known public figure.  His appointment to Headmaster at the age of twenty-five – making him the youngest Headmaster ever – demonstrated his intelligence and his skill as a Master Huntsman and caused the rest of the world to view him as a prodigy.  Under his leadership, Vale had always done well at the Vytal Festival Tournaments.  Beacon didn’t <em>win</em> every time, but they always had multiple competitors in the final round of the tournament and usually placed high in the rankings by the end.  He also worked closely with all four Kingdoms, making himself available to the other three Kingdoms as an ambassador of sorts from the Vale Council, which gave him the reputation of someone who cared about <em>everyone</em>, and not just the citizens of his own Kingdom.</p><p> </p><p>As far as the citizens of Vale were concerned, Ozpin was not only Beacon’s Headmaster, but he was also a politician who tended to lean on the moderate side of issues.  As the holder of the only Council seat not determined by an election, he was careful to present an appearance of compromise – he didn’t vocally advocate on any position, since he didn’t want people to think he was trying to use his position as Headmaster to seize power.  Instead, he listened to proposals, evaluated any evidence presented, and solicited opinions from others on both sides of the issue before quietly making his own stance known.  As there were usually few issues that were completely black and white or cut and dry, he was usually the first one on the Council to offer a middle ground that would satisfy everyone.  Of course, he did tend to favor proposals that would benefit all of the people of Vale and not just a select few.</p><p> </p><p>While he was favored by the citizens of Vale for his moderate stances, to the rest of the Council, Ozpin was an irritant.  He was good at settling debates and helping to bring about compromises – all of which gave the impression that the Council was effective in doing its job – but he also had a habit of exposing the self-serving interests of the other Council members in the process.  The fact that he had not been elected to his seat and it had been granted by virtue of the fact that he was Beacon’s Headmaster only rubbed salt into the wound.  Glynda knew there was more than one Council member who would prefer to see Ozpin removed from his position as Headmaster, but they couldn’t openly make that move because of how popular Ozpin was.  Without some sort of scandal to blame on him, the Headmaster’s seat was secure.  Of course, having the memories and life experiences of hundreds of previous incarnations was certainly a benefit when it came to playing the game of politics, and the fact that one of his previous incarnations was the last King of Vale – the man who had established the Council system and decreed that one seat would be held by the Academy Headmasters in each Kingdom – didn’t hurt either.</p><p> </p><p>To the students of Beacon, he was a wise mentor, an inspiring leader, and a quirky intellectual with a gift for teaching.  He had a talent for coaxing even students who struggled the most in the academic side of the school into excelling, and although he didn’t play favorites with any of his classes, he was one of the most respected teachers at the Academy – and that had nothing to do with his position as Headmaster and everything to do with the way he handled the students, Glynda knew.  Rumors and speculations about what Ozpin may be capable of as a fighter abounded on the campus, and the honor of facing him in a sparring match was something granted only to the best of the best of the fourth-year students.  It was because of all of this that Beacon was considered to be the best of all the Huntsman Academies – Ozpin’s reputation had enhanced the school’s reputation.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, there was also his inner circle.  To their small group, Ozpin was the glue that held them together, the one who provided their reason for fighting.  On their own, they were a mishmash of personalities and skills that would likely never have been able to work together without constantly being at each other’s throats, unified ideals or not.  Under Ozpin’s leadership however, they were able to work past their differences and serve Remnant in opposition to Salem and her Grimm forces.  Eminently calm and experienced thanks to his many incarnations, he was the rock they relied upon.  He trusted them to be his eyes and ears in the field, while they trusted him to provide orders and guidance.  The amount of respect he engendered for enduring his long fight against Salem and her forces was… immense.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda stayed back, out of the way, as Ozpin left her side and moved back over to the bed.  Perching on the edge of the bed, he gathered the boy up into his arms and rocked him gently, murmuring reassurances into his ear and coaxing him through a breathing exercise, trying to calm the child down before the doctor could sedate him.  The thing that struck her the most as she watched the two of them was how <em>natural</em> the Headmaster’s actions seemed.  Although he had indicated no desire to marry or have children of his own in this incarnation, it was evident that he had experience in dealing with frightened or injured children, as his actions calmed the boy much more rapidly than she would have expected, considering how upset he’d been only moments ago.</p><p> </p><p>“Oz… why… why?” the boy mumbled into Ozpin’s chest, his words barely audible beneath his hiccupping sobs and the amount of pain in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know why this has happened to you, Oscar,” Ozpin said softly, “but we’re going to figure it out, and we’re going to help you.”  He brought one hand up, gently carding it through Oscar’s dark hair as the boy’s breathing continued to slow.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda gave the doctor and the nurses a significant look over the top of her glasses and nodded towards the door, indicating that the Headmaster had the situation under control.  The doctor frowned but nodded and waved the nurses out of the room before following them, leaving the three of them alone.</p><p> </p><p>It was several more minutes before the flow of tears stopped and Oscar let out a shuddering sigh against Ozpin’s chest.  Ozpin pulled back slightly, but kept one arm wrapped around the boy, while he put one of his long fingers beneath Oscar’s chin and tipped the boy’s head up so he could meet his eyes.  “Are you feeling better now?”</p><p> </p><p>The boy sniffed.  He looked utterly <em>wretched</em>, between the bruises and cuts on his face and his black eye, and now the puffy redness of his other eye from crying so hard, but he was at least able to meet Ozpin’s gaze, even though he still seemed nervous and was still feeling quite a bit of pain, if the tightness around his eyes was any indication.  “I – it <em>hurts</em>,” he whispered, his voice ragged and thick.  “S-she…” he shuddered violently, unable to finish the sentence.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Ozpin murmured softly, his voice sympathetic, but firm.  “I know what she is capable of, but she <em>won’t</em> hurt you again.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda felt her lips twitch involuntarily into a slight frown.  Ozpin never spoke much about his prior incarnations, but there was one simple command he had given them – above anything else he had asked of them, even guarding the Relics and the Maidens – ‘<em>Do not let her take me again.</em>’ Glynda had never asked for details about why that was so important to him, but she believed that she knew enough about Ozpin to be able to deduce quite a bit.  What that order implied about Ozpin’s previous lives and his past interactions with Salem…</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin reached for the damp cloth on the tray table and – moving slowly so the boy could track his movements – gently wiped at his eyes again.  “There.  Would you like another drink?”  When Oscar nodded, he placed the cloth down and picked up the cup, holding it carefully so the boy could take a few sips of the cool water, before he pulled it away and replaced it.  “Now, Oscar, do you think you can answer a few questions for me?”</p><p> </p><p>The boy nodded, his head barely moving – no doubt because of whatever pain he was feeling – and Glynda took that as her cue to open her tablet and begin a new file so she could make notes on anything that Oscar might say that could help them figure out the puzzle that he represented.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.  I know you told me that your name is Oscar, but what’s your last name?” Ozpin asked gently.  “We’d like to be able to contact your family and let them know that you’re safe.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy looked up at him, blinking, before a strange, confused expression crossed his face.  “Y-you k-know.  D-did you f-f’rget?”  His words were still a bit slurred, but distinctive enough, probably due to the pain medicine and his emotional state.</p><p> </p><p>The question perturbed her in a way that Glynda couldn’t explain.  Why was Oscar assuming that Ozpin knew him?  Ozpin had said that he’d never met the boy before, after all, and there was no reason to doubt the Headmaster’s word on the matter.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ozpin replied, keeping his voice soft.  “You and I hadn’t met before you appeared in my office in Beacon Tower yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>More confusion on the boy’s face, along with… fear?  Glynda watched him closely, trying to read his body language as he shook his head slowly.  “N-no, that’s not…”  he trailed off, one hand coming up to rub his forehead.  “T-that’s not right.  Y-you… the farm… we…  H-Haven, a-and A-Atlas…”</p><p> </p><p><em>A farm?  Haven?  Atlas?</em>  Glynda noted those pieces of information on her tablet, but her eyes never left the boy on the bed.  Both James and Leonardo had replied to her inquiries yesterday, and both had confirmed that they didn’t have any missing students from their respective Academies, as well as confirming that neither had a student named Oscar, nor one fitting the child’s description.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, it’s alright,” Ozpin began.  “We can figure this out, just…”</p><p> </p><p>The boy shook his head again, his breathing rate beginning to increase as the confusion faded and fear and stress became more prevalent in his expression.  “S-she c-came… the Hound… y-you promised… y-you…”</p><p> </p><p>“She won’t hurt you again, Oscar,” Ozpin insisted.  “I won’t let her.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy’s right hand came up and threaded into his dark hair, tugging on the locks anxiously.  “D-did she m-make you forget?” he whispered, his eyes widening in horror.  He had been pale before, due to the pain and the emotional stress, but now his face took on a worryingly ashen tone as he began to struggle against Ozpin’s hold.  “C-can she do that?  C-can she make us f-forget things?”  He twisted and pushed against Ozpin, breaking free, since the Headmaster wasn’t the type to forcibly restrain a panicking child, and curled into himself, clutching at his hair with a shaking fist.  “I… I d-don’t… I d-don’t r-remember…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar,” Ozpin interjected, resting one hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “We want to help you, but we need you to talk to us…”</p><p> </p><p>“N-no…” Oscar gasped, jerking away again, despite the way pain flashed across his face as the violent motion jarred his injuries.  “T-this is a t-trick!  I – I w-won’t t-tell…” He tugged harder against the locks of dark hair.  “W-what-ever you d-do to me, I won’t g-give you the p-password for t-the Lamp.”</p><p> </p><p>Tension shot through Glynda’s spine.  <em>The Lamp?  The Relic of Knowledge?</em>  How did this boy know about the Relics?  Her eyes went straight to Ozpin, who’s outward reaction was only a slight stiffening of his shoulders at the boy’s words.  To anyone who didn’t know him as well as she did, it would have been imperceptible.  He kept his tone calm and even as he replied.  “Oscar, it’s okay.  We know all about the Lamp.  The Relic is safe in its Vault.”</p><p> </p><p><em>But was it?</em>  Glynda made a few more notes on her tablet, including one to contact Leonardo.  Only the Haven Headmaster had the key to access the Maiden Chamber, and only he and Ozpin knew how to <em>use</em> that key.  The Spring Maiden had been missing for nearly a decade at this point, so there was the possibility that she or her power could have fallen into Salem’s hands.  If something had happened to the Relic and Leonardo had failed to let the rest of them know…</p><p> </p><p>“Y-you’re lying.  I – I l-lost it,” Oscar continued to tug at his hair, more violently.  “C-couldn’t e-even do that r-right.  Oz… y-you p-promised…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, stop,” Ozpin said firmly, but gently.  “You’re going to hurt yourself.”  He reached towards the boy, clearly intending to pull his hand away from his hair, but Oscar continued to pull away as much as his wounds and the confines of the bed would allow.</p><p> </p><p>“No… g-go away…”  His breath was becoming harsh as his hand fisted tightly in his hair, the strands tangled around his fingers.  “I – I w-won’t listen to you.  It’s a l-lie.  T-this is j-just a tr-trick.”  The monitors began to beep loudly as the boy’s heartrate increased, which brought the doctor and a nurse back into the room.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor look one look at the situation before pointing firmly at the door.  “Out,” she ordered.  “Both of you.  This level of stress is not good for him.”  She was holding a syringe, which she injected into Oscar’s IV port as she spoke.  “He needs more time to recover before you submit him to an interrogation.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy whimpered again at her words, but as Ozpin moved away from the bed, he at least allowed the nurse to help him untangle his hand from his hair and slide back down into the bed.  The nurse quietly fussed over him, soothing him as the sedative began to take effect.  With no other choice, Ozpin gathered up his things and joined Glynda near the door.</p><p> </p><p>“I w-won’t tell, Oz… I-I p-promise,” Oscar murmured.  “T-they’ll find us…” His voice was beginning to slur more as the sedative pulled him closer to sleep.  “T-they’ll f-find us… f-find L-long M-mem…”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda stiffened again and shifted her gaze quickly to Ozpin, who was staring at Oscar with equal amounts of surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“Long Memory?” she hissed, glancing at the cane Ozpin was holding in his left hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed…” Ozpin’s voice was grimly determined, but thoughtful at the same time.  “But how…?”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Beacon Academy… Ozpin’s Office…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Ozpin paced slowly in front of his desk, deep in thought as he considered the problem that Oscar represented.  Glynda had – with her usual brisk efficiency – made sure that his office had been tidied up from the chaos left behind after the boy’s mysterious appearance the day before.  There was no sign left that anything out of the ordinary had happened in this room, and the clockwork gears ticking all around him were a familiar backdrop to his racing thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar <em>knew</em> something.  Something important.  At the very least, he knew about Salem, as his words implied that she had imprisoned him and tortured him in some way, for reasons that Ozpin couldn’t quite deduce.  <em>Why</em> did she have an interest in a teenage boy?  It was an important question, and one that he needed to know the answer to, but equally as important was the fact that Oscar seemed to know about the Relics.  If his hysterical words could be taken as absolute truth, he knew not only that the Lamp <em>existed</em> but also <em>how</em> to use it.</p><p> </p><p>The problem lay in the fact that it wasn’t <em>possible</em>.  <em>No one</em> had the information about the Lamp’s password except for him.  Even the members of his inner circle didn’t know everything about the Relics and what they could do.  They only knew what they needed to know – that the Relics were powerful and had to be kept away from Salem.  They were content with that status quo.  As James had put it when Ozpin had brought him in – <em>“Better to compartmentalize the information so that no one person other than you has all the pieces.  That’s simply good strategy, because then no one in the group can betray the others.”</em></p><p> </p><p>He wished it worked like that – there had been plenty of betrayals in his many lifetimes, after all.  One didn’t need to know everything in order to betray, after all.  But he hadn’t wanted to contradict James at that time – undermining his newest ally’s opinions wouldn’t present the right image, after all.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>had</em> to speak to Oscar.  The boy represented many things – and right now it didn’t look like any of them were <em>good</em>.  But if he continued to panic each time they tried to speak to him…</p><p> </p><p>He sighed and took a sip from his mug, rounding his desk and moving to stand at one of the windows, looking out at the courtyard.  Oscar’s appearance didn’t bode well – whatever Salem had meant to do with the boy, it meant that she was making plans of some kind.  While the Great War had been terrible and lasted <em>far</em> too long, it’s end had at least had the benefit of helping to forward <em>his</em> mission of uniting humanity, even if he hadn’t made any progress on dealing with Salem herself.  Since then, she’d been quiet – but for an immortal, nearly eighty years wasn’t that long to wait.</p><p> </p><p>A <em>beep</em> from his desk heralded an incoming video call.  He moved over to his seat and placed his mug on the desk before accepting the call, taking the precaution of securing the line at the same time.  The holographic screen sprang to life, revealing Leonardo Lionheart.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Hello, Ozpin</em>.”  The Faunus Headmaster’s deep voice was warm with what sounded like genuine pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Leo,” Ozpin replied.  “How are things at Haven?”</p><p> </p><p><em>“All is well,” </em>Leo replied with a chuckle.  <em>“Although, the fact that Beacon did so well at the Tournament last month still has some of my younger students twisted into knots.  They’re already re-dedicating themselves to their training and planning on how they’ll take the trophy at the next Festival, especially since Beacon is hosting it.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>The implied friendly challenge would normally have been enough to bring a smile to his face, were it not for the current situation and the thoughts weighing on him.  He reached for his mug, wrapping his hand around the warm ceramic, and allowing the heat to seep into his palms, but he didn’t raise it to his lips this time.  “Leo, as much as I would love to reminisce about the Tournament…”</p><p> </p><p>His tone caught the other Headmaster’s attention and the friendly smile fell away.  <em>“You didn’t request a secure video call simply to chat, did you?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“No,” Ozpin admitted.  He started to sip from his mug as he considered how to ask the question that was weighing on him, but the rim of his mug only made it halfway to his lips before he lowered it again.  “Is the Relic secure?” he finally said, deciding that it was better to simply ask the question than beat around the bush.</p><p> </p><p>Lionheart blinked in surprise several times.  It was clear that whatever he had <em>thought</em> Ozpin wanted to talk to him about, the safety of the Relic wasn’t it.  <em>“O-of course.  Why wouldn’t it be?”</em>  There was a flash of something in his eyes – fear, maybe?  Concern?  <em>“Is there… is she making a move?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Of that I am uncertain,” Ozpin replied solemnly.  “There have been some… recent events that could be indicating that possibility, but nothing concrete yet.  According to my agents in the field, nothing seems out of the norm.” </p><p> </p><p>Lionheart frowned slightly.  <em>“If nothing is out of the norm, what events have been happening, Ozpin?”</em> </p><p> </p><p>Ozpin considered how much to say.  Oscar represented a potential vulnerability, but his words spoke of the Lamp of Knowledge, and guarding that Relic <em>was</em> Leonardo’s primary charge.  “Glynda assured me that all of your students were accounted for?”</p><p> </p><p>The expression on Leonardo’s face didn’t change.  <em>“Yes.  After she called yesterday, we called the entire student body together for a head count.  Everyone was accounted for, but she didn’t explain why she wanted to know.  What does this have to do with the Relic?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“There was an <em>interesting</em> occurrence yesterday,” Ozpin said carefully.  “A young boy appeared in my office after my classes – he was savagely beaten and terribly wounded as a result, and he said some things about the Relics and implied that <em>she</em> was behind his injuries.  I suspect he has some sort of teleportation Semblance, but none of the Vale combat schools were able to identify him.”</p><p> </p><p>Leonardo blinked again.  <em>“He… appeared?  How?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>What to tell him?  He trusted the members of his inner circle, and they all knew about magic, but with the little Oscar had said… “I have yet to determine that although I suspect it has something to do with his Semblance,” he prevaricated.  “When we tried to question him at the hospital, he became quite distraught, but the few things he managed to say raised some concerns.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“I… see why you’re asking about the Relic, then.”</em>  Leonardo reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, holding it up.  <em>“It never leaves my side, and no one except for you and I know how to use it to open the door to the Maiden’s Chamber.  Anyone wanting to get to the Relic would also need the Spring Maiden, of course, and we both know that she hasn’t been seen in some time, unless…”</em> he trailed off and a look of dismay crossed his face.  <em>“You don’t think that Spring might be in her hands?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I hope not, but I cannot discount the possibility either, which means the Relic may be in danger.  Once the boy is more able to talk, I intend to ask him for more details about what he knows,” Ozpin replied.  The Spring Maiden – Cerelia – had long been a concern for him ever since she ran off.  Qrow had been searching for her between his other missions for some time, but the girl had apparently vanished.</p><p> </p><p>But if Salem <em>had</em> managed to capture the Spring Maiden, maybe she had been held in the same place where Oscar had been held.  Maybe he <em>had</em> overheard something about the Relic or Salem’s plans.  If true and they could get Cerelia back…</p><p> </p><p>Leonardo’s words both comforted him – that the Relic was still safe – and worried him.  He knew Salem wanted the Relics, and he knew <em>why</em>.  That was the reason he had gone to so much effort to hide them, after all.  The last time any of the Relics had been out in the open had been during that final battle in the Vacuo campaign during the Great War – not a day he cared to remember.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“What are you going to do about the boy?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin refocused his attention.  “For now, I’m going to give him a few days to recover.  His aura was completely shattered and his wounds were severe, Leo.  It’s <em>possible</em> he was speaking in a delirium, but…”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“But you don’t think so.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, I don’t.”  Ozpin sighed and finally took a sip from his mug, frowning a little at the fact that it had cooled.  “Unfortunately, he’s been through a great deal, and I don’t think he’s physically, mentally, <em>or</em> emotionally stable enough to answer any of my questions right now.  Until we locate his family, I’ve taken custody of him, and the hospital will notify me when he’s fit to answer some more questions.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Well, if there’s anything more I can do to help, please let me know.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I will,” Ozpin promised.  “Thank you, Leonardo.  And…” he almost didn’t <em>want</em> to finish what he was going to say, not wanting to come across as paranoid or untrusting to one of his closest allies.</p><p> </p><p>Leonardo had always been the most empathetic and gentle of his inner circle, however.  Where Glynda was efficient and brisk, and James was blunt and strategic, and Theodore serving as a strange contradiction of cautious and enthusiastic – careful not to rush in without a plan, but then throwing his support whole-heartedly behind said plan – Leonardo was the most similar to Ozpin in temperament.  Both of them shared a love of knowledge, respect for <em>everyone</em>, be they Faunus or Human, and a desire for peace and a united Remnant.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I’ll keep the Vault and the Relic safe, Ozpin.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Ozpin repeated.  He leaned back in his chair as Leonardo ended the call, musing on what to do next.  Old memories of previous interactions with Salem stirred as he considered what could happen if the worst had come to pass and she did, in fact, have the Spring Maiden under her control.  Part of him wanted to make a trip out to each of the other Academies to physically verify that the Relics were still safe, but that would only make it appear that he didn’t trust the members of his circle to do their jobs properly.</p><p> </p><p>The elevator <em>beeped</em>, heralding Glynda’s arrival.  She entered the room briskly, already tapping on her scroll as she walked across the room.  “James has been sending messages all morning, wanting more information about my inquiries from yesterday,” she said without any preamble.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure he does,” Ozpin replied dryly, knowing from her expression what form those inquires had probably taken.  “I was just about to call him, in fact.  Given what young Oscar said about the Lamp, I feel the need to ensure that all of the Relics are still secure.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda looked up at him for the first time since she’d entered the office.  “You’re worried they’re not?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin turned his chair away from his desk, his gaze fastened on the clockwork along the curved wall, rather than out the window behind his desk.  “I wouldn’t say that <em>worried</em> is the emotion I’m feeling.  But at the same time, I cannot deny that I do have some… concerns.  Other than Salem and her… <em>associates</em>… the only ones who should know about the Relics are our group.  Yet…” he trailed off for a moment, puzzling the problem through,” …somehow a teenage boy knows enough about them to not only know the Relic of Knowledge is a lamp, but that it requires a password to function.  <em>And</em> he apparently <em>knows</em> that password – which is something I’ve never shared with <em>anyone</em> except my partners when I reincarnate.”</p><p> </p><p>“He also mentioned Long Memory,” Glynda reminded him, flicking her gaze to the silver handle where it was leaning against the edge of the desk, within easy reach.  “There aren’t that many people who know your cane’s name, are there?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin shrugged.  “Not many, no.  I made a point of never formally registering it in the Huntsman’s Registry, because it gets handed down to my future incarnations, and that sort of trail is best avoided for someone in my situation.  Of those who currently know in this incarnation, well  I believe it would be you, Leonardo, James, Theodore, Qrow, Taiyang, and Raven.  Fria, perhaps, depending on how her memory is faring these days.  There may be a few others still around from one of my last two incarnations who remember, but that is all.”</p><p> </p><p>“And <em>that</em> doesn’t concern you either?” Glynda asked.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s less of a concern to me than that of the Relics,” he corrected.  “It certainly implies that this boy knows more about me than the general public should.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, what options are we looking at?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin closed his eyes, running the possibilities through his mind.  He raised his mug and took another sip, his lips twisting at the now-cold cocoa as he set the mug aside on his desk.  “He <em>could</em> be a descendant of mine from a previous incarnation, but it would have to be a distant connection, from several incarnations ago.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why is that?” Glynda asked.</p><p> </p><p>“The most recent incarnation that I’ve lived that had children was when I was the King of Vale,” he said slowly.  “However, I’ve been keeping a discreet eye on my son’s descendants from that incarnation, and none of that bloodline are named Oscar.  I suppose it’s <em>possible</em> there was a child out there I don’t know about, but I don’t believe that to be likely.  The last incarnation before that to have children was…” he did some quick mental math before shaking his head, “at least six incarnations back.  If there are still any remaining descendants from that incarnation, they wouldn’t have information that specific about me in <em>this</em> lifetime.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda was taking notes, given the slight – but familiar – sound of her nails against her scroll and the faint beeps he heard coming from her direction.  “There is also the possibility that he is one of Salem’s agents, and he was beaten with the express purpose of inserting a spy into my ranks, to gain my sympathy,” he continued.  “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to use a child against me, but given his utter fear of her, I don’t think that likely unless he is also a world-class actor and manipulator.”</p><p> </p><p>“But it is an avenue that we can investigate if we can find any information about him,” Glynda mused.  “However, even the name ‘Oscar’ could be fake.”</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed.”  He opened his eyes and turned his chair to face the desk again.  “Then – and I do think this is the most likely possibility, however <em>unlikely</em> it is – he is just an innocent in all of this.  Maybe she did attempt to turn him to her cause and failed, or perhaps he simply overheard something he shouldn’t have – from one of her associates, maybe – and was taken prisoner as a result.  If he learned about me or the Relics that way, I could have been in his thoughts when his Semblance triggered and that’s why he was brought to me, if I’m right and he has some sort of teleportation or portal Semblance.”</p><p> </p><p>“But that wouldn’t explain the magic shielding,” Glynda pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it wouldn’t,” Ozpin agreed.  “Which is why I still think that theory to be extremely <em>unlikely</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence fell between them as they each pondered the problem.  It was another familiar, comforting thing and welcome after the last few days, along with the steady sound of the clockwork ticking off the seconds and minutes.</p><p> </p><p>“You said Salem was the one causing the lightning…” Glynda said slowly, breaking the silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then the shield… could it have been one of the Maidens?”</p><p> </p><p>“Possible, but I doubt it,” Ozpin replied.  “Leo asked me something similar – given what the boy said about the Relic, he was wondering if Salem could have somehow found Spring.  While I won’t deny the possibility exists, I don’t feel it fully fits with the facts we do have.  There’s a…”  how to explain this? “…a <em>tint</em>, a shading if you will, to the Maidens’ magic that resonates with the elemental magic I bestowed on them when I gave my magic to the first Maidens.  It allows me to tell <em>which</em> Maiden used the magic, and that shield didn’t <em>feel</em> like a Maiden’s magic.”</p><p> </p><p>“But that would just leave…” Glynda trailed off as she came to the same conclusion that he had after probing those magic traces that had been clinging to Oscar.  “You?”</p><p> </p><p>“That was my conclusion as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you said you’d never seen the boy before.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hadn’t.  But I also didn’t cast that shield after he appeared.  He arrived with it already protecting him.  But <em>her</em> magic is as distinct to me as the Maidens’ magic is, so I could tell that she didn’t cast the shield.  Since she was attacking him, she wouldn’t have any reason to also shield him,” Ozpin explained carefully.  Magic was difficult to explain, even to his inner circle.  It had it’s own set of rules and methods that someone who had only grown up knowing about Dust couldn’t always comprehend.</p><p> </p><p>“Unless it’s a deception, like you said,” Glynda ventured.</p><p> </p><p>“Salem’s magic is tainted.”  Of that he was certain.  “Before… before the gods cursed me and my first reincarnation, it was different.  But the first time I came back, something about her magic had already changed.  She wouldn’t be able to cast a protective shield with that level of purity and <em>light</em> to it,” Ozpin said firmly.  “That shield was clearly of my own magic, yet I did not cast it.  There are only six people capable of using magic in Remnant – myself, Salem, and the Maidens.”</p><p> </p><p>“Could you be wrong?” Glynda wondered.  “Could Oscar also be capable of using magic?  If he <em>is</em> a descendant of one of your past incarnations, could that skill have been passed down to him?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin closed his eyes again, both to consider her words and to hide the pain that the question brought as old memories – painful ones – of his daughters surfaced.  It was a logical question, and he didn’t want Glynda to know how much that question hurt.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Heed this warning.  Where you seek comfort, you will only find pain.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>After he had been brought back and reunited with Salem, both of them had believed that they were the only ones left in Remnant with the ability to use the old magic that humanity had once possessed.  Upon discovering that their eldest daughter could use magic, there had been pride, but also fear.  He had been troubled by what the discovery could mean for the future and for his mission for the God of Light.  Salem had told him that it had been the God of Darkness who had taken the old magic away, right before the humanity they had known had been utterly destroyed.  Would the God take offense to the fact that their children had inherited a gift that had been taken away?  What would it mean for their family?</p><p> </p><p>Of course, shortly after that was when it had all fallen apart, so the fear had become… of less importance.  Salem had killed him, and he had found himself in a new host, with a new life.  For quite a while after that, he had been lost in grief over losing his daughters and the fallout from his fight with Salem.  He’d also slowly been coming to realize what the God of Light had meant when he’d said that he would never be alone when he reincarnated.</p><p> </p><p>The fear had returned the first time one of his partners had become a father after they had merged, although it had become more of a distant fear each time he had children and no sign of any of them inheriting magic had appeared.  But after what had happened with his daughters, it had always been something that he watched for, wondering if his and Salem’s daughters had inherited the magic because <em>one</em> of their parents had magic, or only because <em>both</em> he and Salem had magic.</p><p> </p><p>Assuming that Oscar was indeed one of his descendants, it was just barely possible that Oscar could have magic of his own but based on everything he knew about how magic worked in Remnant now, he didn’t see it as likely.  His prior partners had access to his magic because of the soul merger, but once more than a generation or two had passed, there was no reason to believe that the magic continued to remain within the bloodlines of his partners.  If so, he was sure he would have seen evidence of it over the last several millennia.</p><p> </p><p>“Ozpin?”  Glynda’s voice interrupted his reflections.  “Are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>He opened his eyes and met her bright green eyes with his own.  He sighed and started to reach for his mug out of habit before remembering that his cocoa had gone cold.  He didn’t feel like getting up at the moment to make a fresh batch, and instead rested his hand against the top of his desk.  “I’ll call James and take care of his inquiries.  In the meantime, we need to speak to Oscar again – as soon as possible.  We need to know where he’s from, who he is, what he knows.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll contact the hospital,” Glynda said, “and see if he can have visitors yet.”  She began tapping on her scroll again.  “What about Theodore and Qrow?”</p><p> </p><p>“Qrow’s still on his mission, so I’ll brief him when he gets back to Vale next,” Ozpin replied.  “Has Theodore made any inquiries in response to yours?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.  He responded to my questions, but he hasn’t followed up yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Not surprising.  Theodore rarely asked questions himself.  He preferred to take what he had been given and let it sit at the back of his mind while he absorbed whatever he had been told.  If he were going to ask anything, it would probably be a few days or more before he did.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Glynda,” he replied, eyeing his mug, and contemplating if he wanted to get up and make another, fresh batch.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t answer my question.”</p><p> </p><p>He blinked and looked up at her again.  “I’m sorry?”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t answer my question.  I asked if you were alright.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.  Yes, I’m fine.  Just… concerned about what Oscar’s presence could mean for us.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda shook her head, her blonde waves bouncing.  “Your expression said that it looked much more personal than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, my ongoing conflict with Salem <em>is</em> rather personal, wouldn’t you say?” he asked lightly, trying for some levity, but she merely eyed him over the top of her thin, oval-frame lenses, and he sighed.  “Just… memories.  Children being in danger is a rather… sensitive topic for me.  It hits closer to home than I would prefer.”</p><p> </p><p>While his inner circle knew at least a little about his ongoing war with Salem, they didn’t know exactly how close the two of them had once been, since he always told his allies that he had been cursed with reincarnation due to his failure to stop Salem.  None of allies knew that he had once – longer ago than most people could conceive of – been married to her or that he had fathered her children.</p><p> </p><p>She eyed him suspiciously – the same way she would look at a student who had caused some sort of chaos – well, more chaos than merely being a young adult with access to explosives and firearms would cause, anyway – before she nodded and turned towards the elevator.  “I’ll let you know what the hospital says.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” he repeated, allowing his tone to flavor what he wouldn’t say aloud. <em>Thank you for taking care of that.  Thank you for being so efficient.  Thank you for not pressing for more information than he was willing to share.</em>  He eyed his mug again before pushing it aside and activating his terminal, sending a message to James requesting a secure video call, much as he had with Leonardo.  Now he just had to figure out how to explain Oscar’s appearance in a way that wouldn’t arouse the General’s overly cautious and suspicious nature.</p><p> </p><p>If only there were times when James’ opinions and attitudes weren’t as ironclad as his name implied.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>His whole body <em>hurt</em>.  Dull, throbbing pains were the first thing he was aware of as he drifted towards the faint pinprick of light above him.  His mind felt like it was burning, but it felt sluggish and detached at the same time.  The contradiction made sense, somehow, even though he’d never be able to vocalize the sensation.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to retreat back into the darkness and leave the pain behind – just push it away so that it couldn’t touch him anymore and drop back into that simple darkness where he didn’t have to <em>think</em> or <em>feel</em>, but the light drifted closer and closer.</p><p> </p><p>His right eye opened a slit and he hissed at the light, closing his eye tightly again, even as he became fully aware of just how much pain he was in.  The throbbing pain seemed to be coming in time with his heartbeat, and every breath pulled against his chest in a way that made him want to scream.  But somehow, he knew that screaming would only make him hurt <em>more</em>.  What had he <em>done</em> to himself to make it hurt this much?  Why hadn’t Oz stopped him…?</p><p> </p><p>He tried to open his eyes again, but only the right one opened fully.  The left only opened a small slit, and it felt puffy and sore.  He tried to bring his hand up to rub it but hissed again as the action pulled painfully on his chest and arm muscles.  This… was familiar, somehow, but also worse than anything he’d felt before.</p><p> </p><p>His brain still felt sluggish, but ever so slowly, he began to recall hazy memories – a large, meaty fist hitting him in the face several times, the sight of red walls and floors with a strange flesh-like texture, bone spires protruding from the floors and walls…</p><p> </p><p>His left arm hurt when he tried to raise it, so – after forcing his brain to cooperate – he managed to raise his right hand and probe carefully at his cheek and eye.  A gentle touch was enough to make it flare with pain, but that was enough for him to determine that it was badly swollen.  Probably a black eye, like the time he accidentally stepped on a rake and hit himself in the face with the handle.  It had taken a few days to heal enough that he could open his eye without it hurting.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, that was reasonable enough.  <em>Black eye, not the end of the world.  </em>What else did he remember?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>“My long lost Ozma.  Found at last.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Well, perhaps you and I can have a better working relationship.  Oscar, was it?”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Everything else after that was distant and fuzzy.  He remembered lots of pain, and being afraid of… something?  Someone?  Someone big, with a permanent scowl etched into his face… Hazel?</p><p> </p><p>The sluggish feeling wasn’t going away as quickly as he would have liked, so he took a moment to look around, hoping it might trigger some memories.  He was in a smallish room, but still larger than his room at his aunt’s house, which was tucked up under the eaves of the house.  The walls were plaster, painted a soothing, if bland ivory color.  To his left he could see a medium sized window with cream-colored curtains tied off to the side, letting warm sunlight into the room.  He was lying in a bed, on a mattress, a blanket covering him and a pillow under his head.  It reminded him of a… hospital?</p><p> </p><p>What… what had happened?  Why was he remembering those things?  He thought he remembered waking up here before, but it had <em>hurt</em> so much, and there had been a man in a black suit and green turtleneck, with silver hair…</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Yang, Ren, and Jaune had come after him?  That would make sense, but it didn’t explain the silver-haired man.  A doctor?</p><p> </p><p>If anyone would know, it would be his cohabitant.  <em>Oz?  What’s going on?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>There wasn’t any response, which made him a little nervous.  Was this some sort of trick?  Oz had <em>promised</em> he wouldn’t hide himself anymore…</p><p> </p><p>There was a tapping sound on the door, and he turned his head, despite the protest of his neck muscles to see a woman in a nurse’s uniform entering the room.  “Oh, good.  You’re awake,” she said softly, but cheerfully.  “Doctor Ashburn will be pleased to know that.  You were asleep a lot longer than we thought you would be with that sedative in you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Ashburn?  He didn’t know that name.  <em>Oz?  Why are we in a hospital?</em></p><p> </p><p>Still no answer from the old wizard.  Oscar swallowed nervously, eyeing the nurse as she studied some readouts on the monitors that he just realized were on the wall behind him.  “W-where?” he coughed at the dryness in his throat, then groaned as the cough pulled on his aching chest muscles.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re at Vale General Hospital,” the nurse replied, apparently interpreting his question as she poured water into a cup for him and slipped a straw into the cup, holding it for him so he could take a few swallows to soothe his throat.  “How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>He was too stunned to answer her question.  <em>Vale?</em>  How had he gotten to <em>Vale?</em>  Atlas, he could understand, or Mantle… but <em>Vale?</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oz, what is going on?  Why won’t you answer me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>More footsteps drew his attention to the door, and he saw a doctor entering the room, but it wasn’t the silver-haired man he remembered.  She had sun-bleached blonde hair which was mostly confined in a low bun at the back of her neck, except for a few flyaway strands framing her face.  She was studying a tablet and wore gold-framed glasses in front of her blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, Oscar,” she said.  “I’m glad to see that you’re awake.  I’m Doctor Ashburn.”</p><p> </p><p>“W-where?”  He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he was in <em>Vale</em>.  It wasn’t <em>possible.</em>  “W-where’s O-oz?”</p><p> </p><p>She frowned slightly, before her expression lightened.  “You mean Professor Ozpin?  He went back to Beacon Academy to allow you to rest.  If you’d like to see him, I can call him and tell him you’re feeling strong enough for a visit.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Professor Ozpin…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“A proper introduction would seem to be in order.  Hello.  I’m Professor Ozpin of Beacon Academy.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>That… had that been <em>real</em>?</p><p> </p><p>No, it couldn’t be.  Ozpin had died at the Fall of Beacon and taken up residence in Oscar’s head!  He couldn’t be walking around, alive!  That wasn’t how the curse worked!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oz! Talk to me!  You promised!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’m doing what I must to keep you safe… I’m so sorry, Oscar.  Goodbye…</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes burned as salty tears pooled in them.  <em>What</em> was going on?  He didn’t understand any of this!  He was hurting, his memories didn’t feel like they were really real… and Oz wasn’t talking to him.  Why was the old wizard not talking to him?!</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, it’s okay,” the doctor was trying to calm him.  “I know it’s overwhelming, but you’ve been hurt.  We’re going to help you but getting worked up won’t help you heal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oz,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, hot tears tracing down his cheeks.  “Oz, you promised…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar,” the doctor tried again.  “Just calm down.  I don’t want to have to sedate you again, but I will if you can’t stay calm.  You need to heal – your lungs took some damage, and you might make it worse if you’re not careful.”</p><p> </p><p>“N-no, p-please,” Oscar sniffed, choking back his sobs, even though it left him a little breathless.   He managed a slow, shaky breath.  “I’m… I’m alright.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s overwhelming,” Doctor Ashburn said.  “We’re going to take good care of you, Oscar, and you’ll be out of here and heading home as soon as we can.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Home…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Could he really have a chance to go home and see his aunt again?  Oz was being silent – had they done it somehow?  Had they stopped Salem, and completed Oz’s mission from the God of Light?  Was that why the old wizard wasn’t talking to him now?  Had he been given his reward of returning to the afterlife, never to reincarnate again?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I<strong>’m so sorry, Oscar.  Goodbye…</strong></em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Maybe he’d been too injured to reply to Oz’s farewell?  But no, that didn’t make sense, since the doctor had mentioned that the silver-haired man he remembered was Professor Ozpin and that he’d returned to Beacon Academy… but Beacon had fallen almost a year ago.  He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep his breathing steady.  He was so <em>confused</em>.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He lay quietly while the doctor checked his wounds, thinking as hard as his fuzzy memories would allow.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar?”</p><p> </p><p>He opened his eyes and met Doctor Ashburn’s.  She smiled at him.  “You’re doing better than I thought you would be at this point.  Have you had any training in aura healing?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded.  “A little,” he admitted.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s good.  We had to give you an aura suppressant to give your aura a chance to recover, but it should wear off by the next time I come in to check on you.  If it’s recovered satisfactorily, you should be able to start working on healing some of your more severe wounds.”   She pulled out a tablet and began making some notes on what he presumed was his patient chart.  “Can you tell me your full name, and someone we can contact?  A family member, or where you attend school?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar Pine,” he said quietly.  “I –”  He hesitated.  He wanted to see his aunt again, to go back to the farm… but he needed more information on what had happened.  He’d left the farm without telling her, leaving only a letter of apology – she had to be worried about him, but he couldn’t explain everything unless <em>he</em> knew what had happened.  “C-could I talk with P-professor Ozpin?”</p><p> </p><p>He needed to know.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor nodded.  “I can call to Beacon and let him know.  He should be here soon – I know he was most anxious to talk to you.  In the meantime, however, I want you to rest.  You’re recovering, but if you get worked up or try to move too much, you could still reopen your wounds.”</p><p> </p><p> Oscar nodded and closed his eyes, still trying to make sense of what he remembered… and wondering what he might have forgotten.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ozpin’s Office…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Wait… you’re saying that a boy just… appeared in your office yesterday?”</em>  The expression on James’ face would have been amusing if the subject matter they were discussing weren’t so serious.  It wasn’t often that something Ozpin said could befuddle the general enough to get him to break his habitual stern and stoic expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.  It was quite a surprise,” Ozpin agreed, leaning back slightly in his chair.  He’d given in to the urge to have something warm in his hands and had made a fresh pot of cocoa while waiting for James’ response to his request for a video call.  He raised it to his lips and took a sip, enjoying the smooth warmth on his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“And you think that she had something to do with it?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“It is the only theory I can devise that makes sense with the evidence I have at the moment,” Ozpin replied.  “Only the Maidens, she, and I have any degree of magic power, at least so far as I have been able to determine.  Salem isn’t the type to sacrifice her magic the way I have in the past – she wouldn’t deign to lessen herself or her power in our conflict.  <em>I</em> certainly didn’t conjure the boy here, and the magic didn’t have the elemental tint that would indicate one of the Maidens had sent him – especially considering that they shouldn’t have the power or the ability to do such a thing.” </p><p> </p><p>He took another sip of his cocoa.  “Leonardo did raise the possibility that Salem has somehow managed to find Spring and is planning some sort of move to acquire the Relic at Haven, so he will be on the alert for anything unusual, but he hasn’t yet seen any indications that the Lamp may be in danger.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“All of this could be a trap, Ozpin,”</em> James said.  <em>“What if the boy was sent here as a spy or an assassin?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’ve considered that as well,” Ozpin replied.  “I have every intention of taking precautions, James, but at the moment he is severely injured and hospitalized.  He’s safe enough there for the moment, and once he can speak to us, we’ll begin looking into whatever story he has and trying to confirm the truth or falsehood of what he has to say.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“I don’t like any of the implications of this, Oz,”</em> the General replied, folding his hands, and resting them against his chin thoughtfully.  <em>“What better way to infiltrate Beacon than by using a boy?  Especially an injured one – it’s a brilliant ploy, because although you’re focused on the boy due to his injuries, you may not see what else he could be doing while you’re not around. You can’t watch him twenty-four seven and fulfill all your other responsibilities.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Ozpin would have been offended at the implication that he wasn’t able to watch out for his own safety, or that he hadn’t considered all of these possibilities already, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew that James was mostly just thinking out loud and not taking Ozpin’s vast years of experience into account.  It was a failing of most of his allies at some point in each incarnation.</p><p> </p><p>The idea of immortality, curses, and reincarnation was beyond the comprehension of most people outside of fiction, and his allies didn’t tend to think in those terms without a reminder.  First impressions and personal experience tended in influence the way his allies saw him, and he knew how he appeared to others in this lifetime.  To most people he was an academic, with his head in the clouds up in Beacon Tower.  Soft spoken and soft-hearted, especially where children were concerned.  A middle-of-the-road politician, who preferred compromise to taking a stand on one side of the other of an issue.  A Faunus sympathizer, who – in the eyes of so many prejudiced humans – cared more about making sure the <em>animals</em> received a forum to air their grievances.</p><p> </p><p>But Ozpin’s many lifetimes of experience and the many soul mergers he had gone through had changed him and influenced the way he viewed the world beyond his mission from the God of Light.  He had practical experience as both a warrior and a diplomat, even if he didn’t present himself that way to the world at large.</p><p> </p><p>James had always been the most direct of his allies in this incarnation.  Maybe it was because of his military training, or maybe he had been drawn to the military because of his personality, but his directness was something that Ozpin viewed as an asset, and it was why he had always made a point of having as many different personalities amongst his inner circles as he could manage in each incarnation.  He was already bonded with a like-minded soul – surrounding himself with nothing but other like-minded individuals would result in an echo chamber.  Having those with other viewpoints and personalities allowed flaws in his plans to be identified and corrected – and James was typically happy to serve that role, even if he didn’t realize he was doing so.  The rest of his group – Glynda, Qrow, Theodore, and Leonardo – served as checks against the General’s blunt straightforwardness and preference for a direct fight.</p><p> </p><p>“I appreciate what you’re saying, James,” Ozpin replied, favoring diplomacy over an argument in this case.  “Rest assured, I have no intention of dropping my guard around the boy until we can verify the truth of whatever it is that he has to say.  But at the same time, he <em>is</em> still a child, and I refuse to treat him like an enemy unless he says or does something that proves that to be the case.  Children are impressionable – if Salem has managed to impress her cause on him, I may not be able to save him, but there is just as great an opportunity to sway him back to our side with a little kindness and compassion.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“I still don’t like any of this, Oz,”</em> James said with a sigh, dropping his hands and sitting back in his chair.  <em>“If you leave yourself vulnerable…</em>”</p><p> </p><p><em>It wouldn’t be the first time,</em> Ozpin thought.  He liked to think that he had grown wiser and more cautious over the millennia, but he wasn’t all-knowing or all-seeing.  He didn’t <em>want</em> to be, even if it meant achieving his promise to the God of Light.  He had pretended to be a god once before, with Salem at his side… and it hadn’t resulted in anything good, for him or for Remnant.</p><p> </p><p>Never again.</p><p> </p><p>“At any rate,” Ozpin decided to divert the subject away from Oscar, since that wasn’t primarily why he had called James.  “I am grateful to know that the Relic is still safe.  Fria is well?”</p><p> </p><p>James sighed.  <em>“She’s… doing as well as she can, considering her age.  I don’t think she has too many years left, though.  Her memory is becoming less reliable, and I’m afraid that it may mean that her power will end up going to someone random once she… passes.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Well, as unfortunate as that may be, it isn’t the first time that something like that has happened,” Ozpin replied with a sigh of his own.  “We will simply have to deal with it when it happens.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Agreed.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, James,” Ozpin added as the elevator door slid open and Glynda entered his office again.  “I will speak to you more about this soon, but I have other matters I still need to attend to today.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Of course.  I do as well.  Goodbye, Oz.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The video feed cut out and Ozpin deactivated his terminal with a small sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“It went that well?” Glynda asked.</p><p> </p><p>“James can’t help but be who he is.  I knew that when I brought him into our circle,” Ozpin replied.  “I appreciate his viewpoints on the matter, even if his stubbornness does sometimes get the best of him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you’ll be glad to know that the hospital just called,” Glynda responded.  “Oscar is awake and asking to speak with you.  Maybe now we can get some answers.”</p><p> </p><p>That definitely brought a new surge of energy.  “Let’s hope so.  I don’t like the idea of not knowing, and the idea that this could all be part of a larger conspiracy does not bode well for us.”  He drained the last of his mug before placing it on the desk and standing, taking Long Memory up as he did.  “Let’s go.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So... this chapter totally kicked my butt.  Ozpin and Oscar did not want to cooperate with me, and it went through several drafts before they were satisfied.  I meant to have this up SO much sooner, but I hope you enjoy.</p><p>Here's hoping the next chapter will go more smoothly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Disbelief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is currently going up un-beta'ed.  My beta has been completely swamped with school-related issues, but I didn't want to keep anyone waiting, so I decided to post it and I will make edits if they are needed once she has a chance to look over the chapter.  If I end up making any significant, plot-affecting edits, I'll leave a note on a future chapter letting everyone know so you can go back and read the changes, but I don't expect there should be any of those.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Vale General Hospital…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Ozpin and Glynda approached the door to Oscar’s room, the tip of Long Memory and Glynda’s heeled boots clicking against the white tile floor as they moved down the hallway. Just ahead of them, they saw Doctor Ashburn waiting, tablet in one hand and stylus in the other as she worked.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor Ashburn, thank you for calling,” Ozpin said as he came up alongside the doctor.  “How is Oscar?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s still healing, but he’s awake and far more lucid than he was the last time,” the doctor replied bluntly.  “I was able to get his full name from him, since I know you wanted to contact his family.”  She consulted her tablet.  “Oscar Pine, age fifteen.  He still seems confused about some things – the most important being how he got to Vale, since he seems to believe he was in Atlas last – but he asked me to contact you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is his aura showing any signs of recovering?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s finally beginning to restore itself.  The aura suppressant stopped the constant draining we were seeing, but I’d like to wait another twelve hours before allowing him to attempt to heal himself.  He’s admitted to having some training in aura healing, but we need to make sure that he doesn’t over-exert his reserves again, since that will do him more harm in the long run.  Once we have an idea of how practiced he is at aura healing, we can re-evaluate his prognosis and how long he may have to remain here before he can be released.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s good to hear.  Thank you, Doctor Ashburn.  We’ll speak to him now,” he said with a courteous smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Professor Ozpin…”</p><p> </p><p>He turned back to face the doctor again, who was regarding him sternly.  "You can see him, however,” her tone was firm and serious, “undue stress is not good for him, so if he starts showing any signs of physical or emotional distress, I’m going to have you removed until he recovers more.”</p><p> </p><p>“Understood,” he said with a nod before moving back towards the door, Glynda two steps behind him.  He paused as he reached the doorway, looking into the room to get a sense of how Oscar was feeling before intruding as he raised his free hand and rapped his knuckles lightly against the frame.</p><p> </p><p>The head of the bed had been raised, leaving Oscar in a half-reclined position that was likely less of a strain on his breathing and caused less pain to his injured chest.  The oxygen line had been removed, but it had been replaced with a mask which hung around his neck that he could use as he needed, with a small button near the place where his nose would fit that he could press to begin the oxygen flow.  The boy’s eyes were closed, but there was a deep wrinkle in his forehead that was either a reflection of the pain he was feeling or an indication that he was deep in thought. </p><p> </p><p><em>Or both</em>, Ozpin thought somewhat cynically, remembering the number of times that such an occurrence had happened to him.  The two possibilities were not mutually exclusive after all.</p><p> </p><p>At the sound of his knock, Oscar’s right eye snapped open, alarm filling it for a moment. He jerked nearly upright in surprise before he hissed as his sudden motion pulled against still tender wounds.  His black eye had darkened further, and the swelling actually seemed to be worse than it had been earlier that morning when Ozpin had last seen the boy. Oscar closed his eyes again, bringing the oxygen mask up, breathing through the pain, before he regained control of himself and leaned back wearily.  He took two additional deep, slow breaths through the mask, before opening his eyes as much as he could and turning his head to look towards the door, the mask falling back down to hang from his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, Oscar,” Ozpin said.  “May we come in?”</p><p> </p><p>The boy stared at him for a long moment, hazel eyes as wide as the swelling and bruises on his face would permit.  His lips moved soundlessly for a moment before he swallowed visibly and nodded.  “S-sure,” he near-whispered.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin stepped into the room and moved back over to the chair where he’d spent the previous night watching over Oscar.  He took a seat and moved Long Memory off to the side, leaning the cane against the armrest near his right hand while Glynda stood just behind his left shoulder, tablet at the ready.  He noticed Oscar’s eyes rest on the cane, following the motion like a moth drawn to flame, clear recognition and… longing?... visible.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you feeling better?” he asked, keeping his voice even and friendly as he crossed one leg over the other, wanting to distract the boy’s attention away from his cane.  There would be time later to find out <em>why</em> he was so interested in it, after all.</p><p> </p><p>“Um… yeah, a bit,” Oscar said quietly, although his voice was still a little rough, and he rubbed his hands together nervously in his lap and picked at his nails.  “I’m a little confused as to what is going on,” he admitted, before he coughed a bit and winced at the pull on his chest.  “T-the last thing I remember was being in Atlas.”</p><p> </p><p>“Interesting.”  Ozpin said.  “I’m not sure how much you remember from earlier this morning, but we –” he indicated himself and Glynda with a wave of his hand, “– were hoping to speak to you about what happened to cause your injuries.”</p><p> </p><p>“I –” the boy hesitated, clearly trying to decide what to say.  “A-are you doctors?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, not at all.  You may not remember, but I’m Professor Ozpin, the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, and this is Professor Glynda Goodwitch, head Combat Instructor and Deputy Headmistress.”</p><p> </p><p>“B-but…” The hazel gaze flicked between Ozpin and Glynda before he glanced at Long Memory again.  “H-how…?  Y-you have Long Memory, so you have to…”  His right hand started to inch its way back up towards his hair.  “It d-doesn’t <em>make sense</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, please stay calm,” Ozpin said.  “We want to find out what happened so that we can make sure this never happens again.”</p><p> </p><p>The boy froze and lowered his hand back into his lap.  He took several deep breaths before he looked up and Ozpin saw tears welling up at the corners of his eyes.  “O-Oz?  I-is it really you?  H-how is t-this happening?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin didn’t understand why the boy was getting so emotional.  “Oscar, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.  What has happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-you…” he couldn’t finish and fat tears began rolling down his cheeks.  “I-” His mouth opened and closed several times, but his voice seemed to have been choked off by the tears and he couldn’t say more.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to the boy.  “Here.  Take a moment and breathe.  Doctor Ashburn will ask us to leave if we cause you any undue distress.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar took the square of green silk and raised it to his face, sobbing into the cloth a few times before he managed to get a shuddering, wet-sounding breath out.  He took a few more heaving breaths, before carefully wiping at his eyes and lowering the handkerchief to look at Ozpin again.  “S-sorry,” he murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“You have nothing to be sorry for, Oscar,” Ozpin said, firmly but softly.  “You’ve clearly been through an ordeal and you have every right to come to terms with it in whatever way you need to.”  He gave the boy a little more time to compose himself, before he leaned forward slightly.  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but it seems as if it’s my presence that is upsetting you.  However, Doctor Ashburn called and said you wanted to speak with me.  I would like to help if I can.”</p><p> </p><p>“I – it’s just… I don’t <em>understand</em>,” Oscar said, sounding confused and miserable, his voice still a bit watery.  “I don’t understand how I – how I can be <em>here</em>, with <em>you</em>, and…” he cut himself off and glanced away.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin frowned, still not understanding what it was that was making Oscar so upset.  They seemed to simply be going in conversational circles.  “Oscar…”</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t we start with something easier?” Glynda interjected.  “Dr. Ashburn told us that you told her your name was Oscar Pine, correct?”  When the boy nodded, she smiled.  “Where are you from, Oscar?”</p><p> </p><p>“M-Mistral,” he sniffed.  “I- I live on a f-farm, outside the city.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not by yourself, surely?”</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head.  “No, but… I d-don’t want to put anyone in any d-danger.  I l-lived there after my p-parents died in a Grimm attack.”  He bit his lower lip.  “Or at least I did until a little over a year ago.”</p><p> </p><p>“And then you went off to combat school?” Ozpin asked.  “You want to be a Huntsman?”</p><p> </p><p>“N-no. I wanted to be more than a farm hand, but… I n-never d-dreamed about being a Huntsman,” Oscar stammered.  “I – it was… y-you.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin frowned.  “Me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-you started t-talking to me.  Inside m-my head.”</p><p> </p><p>Of all the things that Ozpin had expected to hear, <em>that</em> was probably the least likely of them all.  “I- I’m sorry?” he asked, unable to keep the slightly disbelieving, incredulous tone out of his voice.  A quick glance at Glynda showed that she was just as surprised as he was.</p><p> </p><p>“I – you introduced yourself to me, told me I was next,” Oscar said, glancing nervously between the two of them.  “Y-you said we were bound together, that I – I was the n-next in-incarnation.”</p><p> </p><p>That couldn’t be true.  “That… that wouldn’t be possible,” Ozpin said.  He’d <em>never</em> known who his next incarnation was going to be ahead of time, not even touching on the fact that he was clearly still <em>alive</em> so there was no way he could have been bonded with this child for over a year.  The process <em>didn’t</em> work that way.  Granted, he’d sometimes questioned what other qualifications determined who his incarnations were, other than simply being “like-minded”, but that seemed to be the only thing that all of his partners had in common with each other over the millennia.</p><p> </p><p>“I – it is!”  Oscar said, eyes locked on Ozpin as he pushed himself upright a little more with a wince of pain.  “Y-you convinced me to go to H-Haven, to find Qrow.  I also met some of your s-students, they were trying to find t-the people who attacked B-Beacon!”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin shook his head slowly.  Clearly, the injuries that the child had sustained were causing him confusion.  “Beacon hasn’t been attacked – none of the Academies have ever been attacked, Oscar,” he said gently.  You’re confused, and…”</p><p> </p><p>“NO!” Oscar yelled, before his voice broke and he began coughing harshly.  His face screwed up in pain and he doubled over, his right hand coming up to brace himself as he desperately tried to inhale between coughs.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda moved away and sat on the edge of the bed, resting one hand on his back.  “Breathe, Oscar,” she said.  “Don’t get yourself worked up.”  She took the oxygen mask and held it to his face until he brought his hand up to take it from her.  “Slow breaths.  We’ll figure this out, but we can only do so if you can remain calm.”</p><p> </p><p>They sat quietly, allowing the boy time to compose himself.  He kept the oxygen mask pressed against his face until his breathing eased and he was able to uncurl and lean back against the head of the bed again.  His eyes drifted closed again as he gathered his strength, the mask falling back down to hang around his neck.  Finally, he opened his eyes again as much as he could and looked over at Ozpin as Glynda moved to stand behind the Headmaster again.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>not</em> confused about that,” he hissed firmly.  “Beacon <em>was</em> attacked.  The CCTS tower fell and cut off global communications.  You started talking in my <em>head</em>.  You convinced me to go to Haven…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar,” Ozpin said, equally firmly.  “I believe that <em>you</em> believe what you’re saying.  But what you’re saying is impossible.  Even setting aside the fact that Beacon hasn’t been attacked and the CCTS tower is one of the most secure buildings in the Kingdom, my reincarnations don’t work that way.  I’ve never met my next incarnation while I’m still alive in my present incarnation.”  As concerned as he was that Oscar knew he was cursed to reincarnate, if he had been attacked by Salem as Ozpin believed, it wasn’t improbable that the boy would have learned that fact, so he saw no reason to deny it.</p><p> </p><p>“But…” Oscar’s expression was a combination of anger, confusion, and… betrayal?  Why would he feel betrayed?  “That… n-no, t-that’s not right,” he muttered.  “I… but t-the f-fight at Haven… and Atlas… Ironwood…”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, it’s okay to be confused,” Ozpin said.  “From what you’re saying, it sounds like you may have overheard some of Salem’s plans.”  That made more sense, and it was one of the theories he’d considered to explain why she had taken an interest in Oscar.</p><p> </p><p>“No… it <em>happened</em>,” the boy insisted, one hand creeping back up towards his hair.  Glynda moved again to intercept him, catching his hand, and pushing it back down to his lap.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” she said gently.  “Like Professor Ozpin said, it’s okay if you’re confused.  You’ve been through a lot.  The memories should sort themselves out in time.  You were severely wounded when you arrived, and not entirely coherent.  It’s not surprising that things may be hazy.”</p><p> </p><p>“But they’re <em>not</em>,” Oscar said, his voice sounding thick due to the emotions he was trying to repress.  “I was <em>there</em> at Haven, and Atlas.  I <em>saw</em> her attack Atlas with an army of Grimm…”</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter if the boy’s memories were mixed up or not.  Under torture and with all the magic Salem possessed, Oscar could very well have been tricked by an illusion or hallucinated what he thought he remembered in a delirium caused by his wounds.  But whatever the cause of his visions, he was speaking of terrifying possibilities – an attack on Beacon’s CCTS tower?  A battle at Haven? An army of Grimm invading Atlas?  None of those were plans that Ozpin wanted to see her implement in any way.  He’d known the Academies were both a good thing and a bad thing – they would shelter the Relics and provide training grounds for the future defenders of humanity, but at the same time they would be tempting targets for Salem to focus her forces on.</p><p> </p><p>He could begin making counterplans at least.  Oscar hadn’t mentioned Vacuo, but that didn’t mean that Salem wouldn’t eventually target Shade Academy as well.  But they had warning now – Ozpin could pull his group in, let them know about possible imminent attacks that might becoming, and they could begin to prepare for whatever Salem was planning.  Even though she had to know that Oscar had escaped, she couldn’t know if he had made it to Ozpin, or if he had even intended to go to Beacon to warn them.  If they were careful about their preparations, she wouldn’t even know that the Academies were ready for her and it would be that much easier to thwart her when the attacks came.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Oscar,” Ozpin said.  “Thank you for bringing this warning.  We can make plans now, and you can take time to recover before we get you back home to your farm.”  He stood from his chair, collecting Long Memory, and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “You’ve done a good thing – an important thing – for all of Remnant.  I know what it has cost you, but I can’t thank you enough.”  He lifted his hand.  “Get some rest.  Glynda and I will be back later to get some more details from you about these upcoming attacks, but…”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar shook his head.  “NO!” he said again.  “No, Oz!  You <em>promised!</em>  You <em>promised</em> me that you would <em>never</em> leave me again!”</p><p> </p><p>The boy’s vehemence surprised him again.  The hazel eyes were filled with emotions that Ozpin couldn’t fully read as Oscar glared at him.  They stared at each other – hazel versus brown – for several quiet minutes before tears welled up in the boy’s eyes and he blinked out of reflex.  His voice broke a little when he spoke.  “You <em>promised</em> me you wouldn’t lie to me again, since I’m next… but was that just another <em>lie?  </em>Am I really just another <em>body </em>– another <em>life</em> – to you?  To use and discard when it’s convenient?  Are you just a <em>parasite</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin <em>flinched</em>.</p><p> </p><p>That accusation hurt.  He had never liked the fact that his reincarnations meant that others would be drawn into his endless war against Salem and his impossible mission from the God of Light.  They were like-minded souls, yes… but what right did he have to interrupt their lives?  The guilt he felt about that was intense and ever-present, although he tried not to dwell on it very much.  Salem wouldn’t allow him to be at less than his best, or she would take advantage of any opening he gave her.</p><p> </p><p>His reaction, involuntary as it was, broke the staring contest between him and Oscar and the boy’s face just crumpled before he sagged back against the bed and turned his head away.  “Whatever,” he muttered.  “I see how it is.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin started to open his mouth to respond, but the closed-off expression on Oscar’s face made him pause.  He wasn’t sure if Oscar would even <em>welcome</em> a response from him at the moment, despite the boy’s words – and how was he supposed to respond to that accusation anyway?  It was, after all, at least partially true, depending on the point of view that was considered.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda put a gentle hand on his shoulder and when he glanced at her, she shook her head slightly and indicated the door with a quick glance.  Ozpin hesitated, but then nodded and turned away from Oscar, moving towards the door.  He would let Glynda speak to Oscar alone – clearly the boy had negative feelings towards Ozpin for some reason, but if that were the case, why request to speak to him?</p><p> </p><p>Long Memory <em>clicked</em> against the tile floor as he moved out into the hallway to wait for Glynda, thoughts racing as he considered everything that Oscar had said – and everything he <em>hadn’t</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Am I really just another <strong>body</strong> – another <strong>life</strong> – to you?  To use and discard when it’s convenient?  Are you just a <strong>parasite</strong>?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He swallowed hard as Oscar’s accusation echoed in his head, feeling nausea rising inside him.  After so many millennia – so many <em>lives</em> – walking Remnant, he wasn’t any closer to fulfilling his mission from the God of Light, after all.  It seemed to be an impossible mission, no matter how he looked at the problem.  As long as humanity had free will and the power to choose, there was nothing that could stop them from fighting amongst themselves, after all.  There would always be those who chose to take instead of give, those who chose to look down on anyone they deemed different or inferior to themselves, those who cared only for themselves rather than their fellows. </p><p> </p><p>Really, maybe a parasite was truly all that he would ever be – stealing the lives of others to wage an endless war with Salem, locked in a bloody stalemate with her for eternity.  It may be true that he had seen and experienced so many wonderful, beautiful things because of his partners, but how many incidental lives had been lost because of his reincarnations?  What about the friends, wives, and children of his partners who had died from being caught in the crossfire of his war with Salem?  What could they have done if they had lived to old age, instead of their lives being tragically cut short?</p><p> </p><p>Dark thoughts which he usually suppressed rose up inside him, and he couldn’t shake them.  He was several millennia old… but with only a few angry words, a <em>child</em> had reminded him of what he really was.</p><p> </p><p>It was a grim reminder that he desperately wanted to forget.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>Glynda had never seen Ozpin so shaken, and she’d seen him stand toe to toe with fearsome Grimm and self-centered, greedy politicians alike and keep that enviable calm demeanor firmly in place.  He may not have spoken much about his incarnations, but the few hints he had dropped over the years had allowed her to deduce that not all of his lives had been spent in positions of power and authority.  He had no doubt seen the lowest lows that humanity could sink to, as well as the highest highs it could rise to.</p><p> </p><p>She encouraged him to let her handle this with a glance at the door.  After all, she was his right hand and he trusted her to handle things that he couldn’t due to circumstances or things that he preferred not to because it was something that she could do better than he could.  He hesitated, but finally nodded and gave her a small, grateful smile – really barely more than the corners of his lips turning up – before he left the room with Long Memory.</p><p> </p><p>Once he had closed the door behind himself, she returned her attention to Oscar, who had turned his head away from the door and had tears falling silently down his freckled, bruised cheeks.  The sight was enough to soften her attitude towards him – after all, she was the professor at Beacon with the reputation for being the least tolerant of the students’ shenanigans.  That didn’t make her unsympathetic or heartless to their emotional state, even if the role of comforter and advisor was the one usually fulfilled by Ozpin or one of the other teachers.</p><p> </p><p>Many of the students at Beacon came because they wanted to become strong enough to protect the ones they loved from the Grimm, but just as many were either survivors of Grimm attacks, or had lost family members and loved ones to the Grimm.  As a result, some degree of trauma wasn’t uncommon amongst the student body, especially the youngest students, so all of the teachers had some training in dealing with traumatized children.</p><p> </p><p>The way Oscar had lashed out at Ozpin however…</p><p> </p><p>The boy had struck a nerve in the headmaster, that much was clear, but it was hard not to also sympathize with him – he was confused and injured, had likely been tortured for reasons they still didn’t understand, and had brought dire warnings of imminent attacks with him.  The ‘how’ and the ‘why’ of his appearance wouldn’t matter to him right now – he felt like Ozpin had wronged him in some way and he’d gone on the attack when he’d felt like he was being dismissed.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t understand how Oscar felt he could claim that he was Ozpin’s next incarnation, however.  Ozpin’s inner circle knew he came back, of course – that was one of the first secrets he told them when he first brought someone new into the group – along with Salem’s identity as the Master of the Grimm.  Ozpin had only explained it as a curse that had been bestowed upon him for failing to stop her millennia ago.  The exact details of how his curse of reincarnation worked was something he kept to himself.</p><p> </p><p>As much as her loyalty lay with Ozpin however, it was hard not to feel pity for the boy at the same time.  Yes, he might be lying about all of this – it was something she needed to remember and something that she knew both she and Ozpin would be keeping in mind until they could verify the truth of anything the boy said.  But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t offer him some comfort as well.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar,” she said softly, moving back to the side of the bed and reaching out to touch his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Leave me alone,” he ordered, pulling away sharply before hissing in pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, we just want to help,” Glynda tried again.  “Getting angry won’t help matters…”</p><p> </p><p><em>“You don’t know</em>!” Oscar snapped.  “He’s <em>ruined </em>my life!  He started <em>talking in my head</em>! He practically dragged me away from the farm to go to Haven!  He <em>took over my body without my consent</em>!”  His voice was getting louder with each word, and his eyes were wild with anger, his breathing rate speeding up.  “He pulled me into something that I didn’t want to have any part of, and then <em>he abandoned me for months!</em> And once he finally came back, he got me tortured for the information he had, and then he <em>abandoned me again!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Are you just a <strong>parasite</strong>?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s accusation circled through his head over and over.  Ozpin gripped Long Memory, drawing comfort from the familiar weight and feel of the metal pommel in his hand, the engravings on the handle under his fingers.  The cane was one of the few things that he had managed to hold on to throughout his reincarnations – changed and molded from Ozma’s original staff in his first life to become more streamlined, more discreet.</p><p> </p><p>But at the same time, it was a constant reminder of all the lives he had lived – lives he had <em>stolen</em>.  There was really no better way to put it.  If it weren’t for Ozma’s mission from the God of Light and his associated curse – <em>his</em> mission now – how many lives would have been saved?</p><p> </p><p><em>How many more lives may have been lost?</em> the distant part of him that was Ozora, his predecessor, whispered.  Ever since the merge had been completed between him and his predecessor, he rarely heard the echo of his predecessor’s voice so clearly.  It wasn’t necessary since he had all of the memories of all of the previous incarnations and could access them at will.</p><p> </p><p>He heaved a heavy sigh, leaning more of his weight on his cane.  The burden of reincarnation was one that he had to bear himself.  His inner circle would never understand the weight that it placed on him, no matter how he tried to explain it, so he kept his explanations as simple as he could whenever the topic came up amongst his allies.  After all, how did one describe the sensation of dying over and over again, only to “wake up” fully conscious and aware, with the memories of his final moments in the forefront of his mind?  How did one describe trying to adapt to a new life, new skills, and integrating the memories that his partners already had?  How did one describe trying to let go of his previous relationships so as to not sour the relationships his new partners already had, if any, or any relationships they wanted to form?</p><p> </p><p>The guilt about all of those lives that he’d intruded upon would always be there, but he tried not to dwell on it.</p><p> </p><p>But imminent attacks on Beacon, Atlas, and Haven?  That was concerning and he would need to rally his inner circle together to make plans.  That meant getting in touch with Qrow as soon as possible… arranging a large group call with Leonardo, James, and Theodore…  they would need to check for any weaknesses in the school’s defenses, check to see if there were any patterns emerging within the cities that might indicate weapons or ammunition being stockpiled…</p><p> </p><p>He had expected that the Academies would become a target for Salem eventually, of course, so contingency plans for defending the schools had been put in place but had never needed to be implemented.  Even though they were fortresses to protect the Relics primarily, and schools to train new Huntsmen and Huntresses second, they were also something that <em>he</em> had built – and Salem always tried to destroy everything that he had built.</p><p> </p><p>He could hear Oscar’s voice raised through the closed door, but he couldn’t make out any specific words.  Whatever Glynda was saying to him wasn’t helping to calm the boy down, apparently.  It might just be best to leave the boy alone and let him recover a little more before trying to get more specific details from him.  Perhaps he could send Glynda alone next time since it seemed as if it were his presence that was agitating the teen.  But he would need to talk to the boy eventually about the things he had said about Ozpin’s reincarnations.</p><p> </p><p>Then a horrible thought stopped him cold.  <em>Could</em> Salem have <em>somehow</em> figured out a way – perhaps with magic? – to determine who his most likely future incarnations were?  If so, maybe <em>that</em> was why she had taken Oscar – to get the boy out of the way before Ozpin could merge with him.  If indeed, she was planning to attack the schools, he would likely be a target as well, and if he died and she was already holding his next incarnation prisoner, he would effectively be stymied for at least one incarnation, since he didn’t get to choose who he bonded with.  Were there others that she was holding prisoner, then?  Was that what the half-delirious words “Don’t let her hurt us again” had been about?</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been taken prisoner by her – although it had been many incarnations since the last time it had happened, as he was far more cautious about putting himself in a situation where she could get her hands on him.  The last time… well, it hadn’t been pleasant or a brief incarceration.</p><p> </p><p>The only flaw with that idea was the fact that he had never merged with a child before – his previous partners had all been adults – so why would that suddenly change after millennia?  Could Salem simply be trying to cover all potential angles?</p><p> </p><p>The door opened suddenly and Glynda stepped out, before pulling it closed with a sigh.  “Well… that didn’t go well.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it did not,” Ozpin agreed wearily, turning down the hallway and putting his thoughts about reincarnation aside – with difficulty – to focus on the more important issue as he began moving towards the elevator.  “We need to assemble the full group to discuss what we’re going to do.  If there’s an imminent attack…”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda’s scroll was already out, and she was already typing quickly.  “Of course.  I’ll notify the others… do you want them to meet at Beacon, or…?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin considered.  “I think for the time being a group call will suffice.  If we can at least make an initial plan to begin shoring up any potential weakness in the schools’ defenses, I can make trips out to the other Academies once Oscar can give us any more details he may know.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda nodded and they left the hospital together, heading for the air ferry that would take them across the bay below the city to Beacon.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Elsewhere…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Ozpin</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I need you back in Vale as soon as possible.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Qrow frowned at the message.  Ozpin didn’t typically send him messages when he was out on assignment.  The old wizard didn’t want to risk compromising him by distracting him, after all.  He reached for his flask and took a long swig before tucking it away and moving to respond.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Qrow</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Has something happened?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ozpin</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Too much to explain over a scroll message, even an encrypted one.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The response was immediate, and interesting.  Qrow often sent encrypted messages back to Ozpin letting him know the status of a mission or when he’d completed an assignment – that was usually the only time that the Headmaster would respond to him, and it was usually with another new task.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Qrow</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>I just finished up the last job you sent me on.  I can be back at Beacon in a few days.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Ozpin</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Good.  Sooner rather than later if you would.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Qrow</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>On my way.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He shoved his scroll back into his pocket when Ozpin didn’t respond.  Another swig from his flask before it was also put back inside his pocket and he made sure Harbinger was securely fastened to its harness at his back.  He had a long trip back to Beacon, and the sooner he got started, the better.  He could fly in his alternate form to the closest town and pick up a ride from an airship there to Vale.</p><p> </p><p>What could have been happening while he was away?  This was the second communication Ozpin had had with him in two days.  Late yesterday, he’d received a cryptic message asking for a report on any unusual activity he may have seen concerning the movements of Salem or her forces.  But everything had been quiet – Grimm activity seemed… normal.</p><p> </p><p>Well, as normal as Grimm activity could get.</p><p> </p><p>The Vytal Festival last month always brought their own set of concerns as far as security went.  Large portions of the population would arrive for the Tournament, which made the host Kingdom a tempting target for Salem to dispatch her forces against, but Mistral’s security had been strong and discreet, and the festival had gone off without a hitch.</p><p> </p><p>Surely it was still just a bit too early for Ozpin to be worried about the <em>next</em> Festival?  After all, it wasn’t for another two years.  It would take a great deal of planning yes, but most of that would be done via scroll messaging, at least until the last few months before the Tournament, which was when most of the visitors arrived, even if the celebrations went on for months before that.</p><p> </p><p>He wouldn’t know until he got to Vale and could talk to Ozpin and Glynda… and to do that, he needed to get started.  He rolled his shoulders, before mentally reaching for the magic inside him and allowing it to wash over him before he rose into the sky on ebony wings.  With any luck – and the cooperation of his Semblance, of course – he could reach a village by dusk, find a room for the night, and then set off via airship by morning.</p><p> </p><p>If Oz wanted him back in Vale, well, he was the boss for a reason, and Qrow would obey the summons.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Oscar… I am so, so sorry…</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p><em>“Stop,” Oscar moaned.  Every part of his body hurt.  His muscles felt strained and stretched far beyond the point where he would have expected them to tear, his joints ached every time he moved even a little bit… even his </em>hair<em> hurt.  He had thought the previous month of training he’d been doing with Ruby, Jaune, Nora, and Ren had done some good, but apparently, he still wasn’t as fit as he’d thought he’d been after the fight the previous night.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But…</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“I said </em>stop<em>,” Oscar snapped, before coughing a bit as the force he’d put behind the final word caused his chest to tighten painfully.  The last thing he remembered was managing to gasp out Ozpin’s message about taking the Lamp to Atlas before the world had gone dark.  He’d woken up in his bed at the house that morning, Qrow and Ruby both sitting near the bed watching over him, and Ozpin’s guilt-laden presence at the forefront of his thoughts.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>They were taking good care of him it seemed.  Ruby had mentioned that a medic had looked him over the night before once the authorities were on the scene and diagnosed general exhaustion, strained and inflamed muscles and joints, and over-straining his aura.  Nothing serious, but he was likely to be stuck in bed for at least a few days while his body recovered.  Someone was checking on him every hour or so, but his head hurt too much for conversation, any amount of light only made his head hurt </em>more<em>, and the thought of eating anything made him nauseous.  There was a pitcher and glass of water on the table next to his bed, but he didn’t even have the energy to reach for it, and it was showing in his voice whenever one of Ozpin’s guilt-ridden apologies came out.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Oscar?” A soft voice.  Ruby.  “Are you feeling any better?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Not really,” he rasped, wincing as another stab of pain went through his temples.  A scent reached his nose, but instead of making him nauseous, it actually seemed to help.  “What’s that?” he asked, managing to open his eyes enough to see her carrying a… sock?  A sock that seemed to be stuffed with something.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, I brought this for your headache,” Ruby said, coming over to the bed and resting the sock against his forehead and over his eyes.  “Blake suggested it when we explained what was going on with you and Ozpin.  It’s only plain dried rice and lavender, heated up.  She said it would help with your headache, and it might help with your sore muscles too, if you want to try it around your neck or one of your other joints.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It… was helping.  The lavender gave off a pleasant scent, one that he remembered from his childhood with his parents, and the rice seemed to be retaining the heat, letting it off slowly, without burning his skin.  “Thanks,” he whispered, not having the energy to speak any louder.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s wrong with your voice?” Ruby asked, keeping her voice quiet.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Thirsty,” he admitted.  “Too achy to try to reach my water, though.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You could have called for someone,” she chided him, pouring some into the cup.  “Can you hold it, or do you want help?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>His cheeks flushed, and he managed – with an effort and no little pain – to push himself a little more upright in the bed so that he could take the glass from her, the sock-compress falling off his head to land in his lap.  She darted out the door in a shower of rose petals but was back before he really registered that she was gone.  She was carrying a few more pillows, and as he sipped at the water, she propped them behind him.  “There.  Now you can be more comfortable.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Thanks,” he said shyly, handing the glass back to her.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Just call if you need anything,” Ruby insisted.  “We’re all listening for you, so it’s not an inconvenience.  We care about you, Oscar, and we’ll help however we can.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Salty tears trickled down his cheeks as the memory rose up in his mind.  It was too vivid to be something that he’d made up!  But none of this made any sense!  He was somehow in Vale, but he’d last been in Atlas – or more accurately, he’d been on Salem’s giant whale Grimm – Ozpin was <em>alive</em> and seemed to have no knowledge of Oscar, the Fall of Beacon, or anything that had happened since he’d taken up residence in Oscar’s head…</p><p> </p><p>What was going on?  Why wasn’t Oz talking to him?  He still felt an aching desire to hold Long Memory in his hand, and bits and pieces of memories that weren’t <em>his</em> were drifting through his mind at the slightest provocation.  He felt…<em>empty.</em>  It was like something had been carved out of him, leaving a burning, hollow ache deep inside himself.</p><p> </p><p>He clearly remembered the long, long hours of being beaten by Hazel, the other long hours lying on the floor of his cell, trying to breathe through an aching chest, Oz all but begging him to allow him to take over so that he could spare Oscar the pain, and his own stubborn refusals.  He remembered fighting Grimm down in Mantle, and on the top of the Argus Limited, the intense sparring sessions with Ja – General Ironwood to try ‘to bring Ozpin back’.</p><p> </p><p>So <em>how</em> had he gotten to Vale?</p><p> </p><p>His head ached the more he thought about it, and that wasn’t even taking into account the rest of the general aches and pains he was feeling.  Hazel had worked him over thoroughly – he actually hurt worse than he had after Haven, and he’d thought that was the most pain he would ever find himself in.</p><p> </p><p>But at the same time he couldn’t help but think about it – trying to figure out what was going on.  He remembered giving control to Oz, the old wizard trying to sway Hazel away from Salem…</p><p> </p><p>Then there had been an exchange between Oz and Salem… and…</p><p> </p><p>A tearing sensation, like he was being ripped in half, almost lost under the rest of the pain he’d been in at the moment. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’m so sorry, Oscar.  Goodbye…</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>And then the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a Vale hospital, facing a silver-haired man who had Long Memory and claimed to be Ozpin.  He’d claimed that Beacon hadn’t been attacked, there was no battle at Haven… no war on Atlas…</p><p> </p><p>But the only way that could possibly happen was…</p><p> </p><p>Had he…</p><p> </p><p>Could he have… somehow <em>travelled back to the past</em>?</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Beacon Tower… Ozpin’s Office…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“What’s going on Oz?”</em> James’ voice was demanding as the video call connected and Glynda entered the office, taking a place just behind Ozpin’s right shoulder where she was visible, but otherwise remaining silent.</p><p> </p><p>“A great deal that we will need to discuss, James,” Ozpin said, steepling his fingers.  “But I would rather go over it just once with all of you, so I’m going to wait until Leonardo and Theodore are connected as well.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“This has to do with that boy, doesn’t it?”</em> James asked as Leonardo’s image flickered into view on Ozpin’s screen, followed almost immediately by Theodore’s image.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Boy?  What boy?” </em>Theodore’s rumbling voice was inquisitive.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve received warning of possible attacks by Salem,” Ozpin explained, not bothering with pleasantries.  He didn’t often call a full group meeting like this after all – there usually wasn’t a need.  “Leonardo and James already know about this, but late yesterday afternoon, a boy appeared in my office after classes, savagely beaten and badly injured as a result.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“This is why Glynda was making inquiries about any of my students that might be missing?”</em> Theodore asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Ozpin said.  “He said some things that have given me cause for concern – his strange appearance in my office not withstanding – and when Glynda and I went back to the hospital to question him at more length, he indicated that Salem may be planning to attack Beacon, Haven, and Atlas.”</p><p> </p><p>Leonardo’s face tightened, as did James’.  Theodore merely looked thoughtful.  <em>“But he didn’t mention Shade?”</em></p><p> </p><p>“He did not, but that doesn’t mean that she <em>won’t</em>,” Ozpin replied.  “The boy just may not have heard anything about it.  He’s still recovering, so we weren’t able to speak to him for more than a few minutes, but my current working theory is that he overheard some of Salem’s followers discussing her plans, so they abducted him and tortured him to try to find out what he’d overheard, but he was able to use his Semblance to escape.  Leo has also raised the possibility that Salem may have located Spring, and if so, Haven may be the first target.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Fria is still secure,”</em> James said confidently.  <em>“She may not have many more years left in her, but she’s safe and comfortable.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“The Summer Maiden is also accounted for,”</em> Theodore said slowly.  <em>“I spoke with her just yesterday, in fact.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Amber is also safe,” Ozpin said.  “She’s out with another group of Huntsmen in the south of Sanus, but I’ve sent a message asking her to head back to Beacon once she finishes her current assignment.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“W-what are <strong>her</strong> plans?”</em> Leonardo asked, his voice taking on a hint of nervousness.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know for sure,” Ozpin admitted.  “The boy – Oscar – couldn’t tell me much, although whether that was due to his injuries or the fact that he’s not sure he can trust me is uncertain now.  He seems confused, but the things he said are enough to make me wary and I’d like us to slowly and <em>quietly</em>,” he added pointedly, “begin strengthening security around the schools until I can get more details out of him.  If Salem is planning to attack one or all of the Academies, I don’t want her to know that we’re on to her.  She may already know, since she has to know by now that Oscar escaped, although I don’t think she can know that he made it to Beacon already.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Where’s Qrow?  Has he seen anything?”</em> James asked.</p><p> </p><p>“He just finished an assignment and is on his way back to Vale as well,” Ozpin said.  “I haven’t briefed him yet because he’s not in a secure location, but I intend to as soon as he arrives.  I expect him within the next few days.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“What are you going to do about the boy?”</em> Theodore asked.</p><p> </p><p>“For now, we’re going to allow him to recover,” Glynda spoke for the first time.  “He was reluctant to share much about himself, and both Ozpin and I believe that is because he’s trying to protect his loved ones.  He doesn’t seem to fully trust that he’s escaped and believes much of this to be another of Salem’s tricks.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“That seems suspicious,”</em> James replied immediately.  <em>“If he’s not willing to share any details with you, how are you going to be able to verify that <strong>anything</strong> he has to say is true?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’d like to <em>think</em> that we can tell the difference between a traumatized child and a master manipulator, James,” Glynda shot back, but Ozpin raised his hand and she fell silent.</p><p> </p><p>“I understand your concerns, James,” Ozpin said after a moment.  “Please know that I intend to get more information out of him once he’s had a few days to recover and I intend to verify everything that he has said to the best of our ability.  As soon as Qrow returns and has been briefed, I’m going to ask him to go out again and see what he can find out, both about the boy and Salem’s movements.  By then, Oscar will have had a few days to recover and realize that this is not one of Salem’s deceptions, and hopefully he’ll be more open with us.” </p><p> </p><p>He rested one hand against the white dome of Long Memory’s pommel where it was leaning against his desk.  “The Academies all have secondary defense measures built in and planned for.  I would like each of you to familiarize yourself and your staff with those measures as quietly as possible, so that if we <em>do</em> have to implement them there won’t be any confusion or wasted energy.  If anyone detects any holes in the defenses that we may have overlooked when we were planning the schools’ constructions, please bring them to my attention and we will work on getting the holes plugged before it’s too late.”</p><p> </p><p>This was an order, and the other three Headmasters recognized it as such.  Each of them nodded curtly, accepting the order they had been given.  He knew he didn’t need to look to Glynda for an acknowledgement – she knew as much about the situation as he did, and he knew he could trust her to begin pulling the other professors aside and introducing the defensive tasks they would have to take on if the schools were to come under attack in such a way as to not cause any panic or cause anyone to ask questions.  Once all of the professors were comfortable, they would phase the instructions in to the students.</p><p> </p><p>“If anything happens to cause you the slightest bit of concern regarding the Maidens or the Relics, I want to know about it <em>immediately</em>,” he added the next part of his orders.  “The Maidens are our last line of defense, and they must be kept safe.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“What about Spring?”</em>  Leonardo asked.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin sighed.  “She is a weak link, I must admit.  If you’re right and Salem has managed to locate her, Haven would be most at risk.  With the Lamp in her possession, she could also find out where the other Maidens are, how to access the other Relics… and the attacks wouldn’t have to come immediately.  The Lamp is all out of questions for the time being,” he lied smoothly, “but eventually the questions will be available to her again and the potential for chaos that it would cause could be devastating to us.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Should I send some Huntsmen out to try to find Spring?”</em> Leonardo asked.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Ozpin said firmly.  “I’ve got agents all across Remnant who are searching for her, including Qrow.  They know what they’re looking for, even though they don’t know her importance, and so far, they’ve found nothing.  Right now, we can only pray to the Brothers that she is safe, wherever she is.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oz, we can’t afford to remain passive with a looming threat…”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m <em>not</em> remaining passive, James,” Oz said firmly.  “There is a difference between passivity and subtlety, and between passivity and caution.  If Oscar’s information is correct and can be verified, we do not want to tip our hand, or she will simply change the plans and strike in a way that we <em>aren’t</em> prepared for.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“But how do you know that he’s not a plant?  What if her plan is to put us all on the alert, and then do nothing?  Then we relax our guard when nothing happens, and then when an attack <strong>does</strong> happen, we aren’t prepared?”</em> James pressed.</p><p> </p><p>“James, that <em>is</em> something I’ve considered, and will <em>continue</em> to consider until we can determine the truth one way or another,” Ozpin assured him.  “I fully intend to speak to Oscar again and get more details, but it was far more important to give all of you the same heads up that he gave us.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“We’ve been given our orders for the time being,”</em> Theodore said mildly.  <em>“Perhaps, James, we should leave it at that for the time being.  Glynda will work on Beacon’s defenses while we work on the defenses for our schools – let us leave the information gathering to Ozpin and Qrow.  After all, Ozpin can question the boy at more length, and Qrow can attempt to verify what he says.  That <strong>is</strong> Qrow’s primary job for this group, if you recall.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“I agree,”</em> Leonardo added.  <em>“We shouldn’t risk dismissing the aid of a potential ally or any information they may have just out of paranoia.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>James looked offended at the insinuation, and Ozpin was quick to intervene before an argument broke out.   “That’s enough.  Salem’s goal is always to divide us – we can’t allow her to sow dissension in our ranks.  I’ll continue to update you with what Qrow and I are able to find out, and I expect regular updates from all of you regarding the progress you’re making.”</p><p> </p><p>More nods from the other three Headmasters.  Ozpin leaned back in his chair.  “For now, we’ll leave it at that.”</p><p> </p><p>Each Headmaster nodded before their image disappeared from his screen – first Theodore, then James, and finally Leonardo, whose face was tight with tension at the thought that Haven might be the first target.  Only once they had all gone, did he reach forward and close down his terminal.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” Glynda asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I expected her to make a move sooner or later,” Ozpin replied.  “I’m a little surprised it’s taken her almost eighty years to do so… but if Oscar is right, this is a larger move than even I could have anticipated from her.  She doesn’t work in the open like this.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what James doesn’t understand,” Glynda agreed.  “He’s used to thinking in terms of overwhelming force, large-scale battles, and absolute victory.”</p><p> </p><p>“It may eventually come to that,” Ozpin said.  “But I don’t want to think about the possibility of another Great War against her.  It will not end well for Remnant if it comes to that.”  He sighed and closed his eyes.  “Did Oscar say anything of importance after I left the room?”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda… didn’t answer, and that was enough to make him open his eyes and turn his chair to face her directly.  She seemed… hesitant, for the first time in all the years that he’d known her. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, after he’d watched her for several seconds, waiting for her answer, she sighed.  “There’s… a lot of anger in that boy, Oz.  All directed at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?  What did he say?”</p><p> </p><p>“He… feels like you abandoned him.  <em>After</em> pulling him into this conflict somehow.  He seems to blame you for ruining his life…”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t see how that could be,” Ozpin said after processing that.  “I never saw him before he appeared here.  I suppose it could be one of Salem’s tricks, but…”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think it is,” Glynda replied solemnly.  “There’s too much anger there for it to all be the result of psychological manipulation and lies, even if that is what she is best at.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I need to speak to him again.  Alone,” Ozpin said.  “We need to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact - you can make an amazing heat compress with an old (clean) sport sock and dried white rice.  Take the sock and fill it loosely with rice (not completely full because you want it to be loose and flexible enough to wrap around the sore part of your body) and then sew the other end closed.  Pop it in the microwave for 2:30 - 3:30 minutes and you have an instant hot pack that retains heat for a surprisingly long time and can be reused as many times as you need it to.  We have two of them in my house and we primarily use them as neck wraps, but I've also used them for my knee and my wrists.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Indecisive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again this is going up un-beta'ed, but as I mentioned in the previous chapter, if I need to make any major changes to the chapter other than some minor grammatical tweaks, i.e. changes that are plot-affecting, I'll post a note on whatever the current chapter is so you guys can go back and reread.  Again, I don't really anticipate anything like that at this time, but we'll see what my beta says once her classwork load lightens up and she has a chance to go over all of this.</p><p>Also, since CRWBY hasn't given us a real idea of what year it is in Remnant, other than approximately 80 years after the end of the Great War (based on the idea of the Vytal Tournaments being held every two years and the last Tournament at Beacon being the 40th Tournament) I decided that one of the things that was changed during the negotiations of the Vytal Treaty was establishing a new calendar for a new era, so the new calendar is referred to as "AW" for "After the War", while anything before the signing of the treaty is considered to be "BW" or "Before the War".</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Vale General Hospital</em>…<em>sunset…</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Ozpin paused as the elevator reached the floor of the hospital where Oscar’s room was, his hand tightening on the handle of Long Memory.  After meeting with the rest of his brotherhood, he and Glynda had spent a few hours going over the security plans for Beacon, determining what would be the best ones to implement, given the limited information they had regarding the threat to the Academies.  Once they had come to an agreement, Glynda had left to begin selectively calling the other professors into personal meetings to begin briefing them, leaving Ozpin alone to think about Oscar, the warnings the boy had brought, and his clear resentment towards Ozpin.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda’s words had provided some insight, and when combined with what Oscar himself had said, Ozpin knew that there was more going on than he’d initially thought – and perhaps he’d been wrong to dismiss the boy’s words so immediately.  He was still worried about the possibility that Salem had managed to find out a way to identify his potential future incarnations, but if so, that was a problem that he could address once he had more information from Oscar as well.</p><p> </p><p>He moved down the hallway, past the nurses’ station.  Visiting hours would be over soon, but since he had taken custody of Oscar in his role as a City Councilman until they could locate his family, he had more access than most.  He stopped again, just outside Oscar’s room, drawing comfort from the solidarity of having Long Memory in his grasp.  Hopefully giving the boy a few hours to calm down would make this discussion go a little more smoothly.  After all, they wouldn’t be able to have an effective, productive discussion about the upcoming threat with Oscar’s anger directed at him.</p><p> </p><p>After pausing for a moment to take a fortifying breath, he took the final few steps to the open doorway of Oscar’s room and raised his other hand to knock.  He shouldn’t be nervous about talking to a teenager – he’d been through far more harrowing experiences, after all.  “Good evening Oscar.  May I come in?”</p><p> </p><p>The boy was still sitting half-reclined in the bed, as he had been earlier that day.  His eyes were closed again, the oxygen mask still around his neck.  He opened his eyes and turned his head towards the door at Ozpin’s knock, his eyes widening at the sight of Ozpin standing in the doorway before they narrowed suspiciously.</p><p> </p><p>“I… think perhaps we were not on the same page during our earlier conversation, and I would like to speak to you further, if you don’t mind,” Ozpin added.</p><p> </p><p>The suspicious look didn’t ease.  “And if I do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I’ll leave until you’re ready to speak to me,” he replied, allowing a soft smile to turn up the corners of his lips in an effort to reassure the boy.</p><p> </p><p>Something in Oscar’s expression eased a little, and he slowly nodded.  He kept his eyes on Ozpin as he entered the room and – rather than taking the chair – stood at the end of the bed, resting both palms over the pommel of Long Memory.  Better not to crowd Oscar, at least until some of the overt hostility in his eyes had been eased.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like to apologize for upsetting you earlier today,” Ozpin said, breaking the silence just before it would have been uncomfortable.  “It wasn’t my intention.”</p><p> </p><p>“That seems to happen a lot,” Oscar muttered.  “You do something with the best of intentions, and it turns out differently – and often worse - than you intended.”  He glanced away from Ozpin, eyes darkening with pain and anger again.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin winced at the – unerringly – true statement.  He’d made so many mistakes in his incarnations – and almost all of them came as the result of good intentions, all the way back to Ozma.  He’d saved Salem from the tower where her father had imprisoned her, without realizing how that decision would forever influence the world.  He’d agreed to the God of Light’s mission without knowing all of the details, because he’d viewed returning to life – to Salem – as good, and he’d wanted to help humanity, but he’d found himself trapped under the burden of an impossible mission and a millennia-long stalemate with the woman he’d once loved.  As the last King of Vale, he’d fought in the final battle at Vacuo during the Great War with the intention of ending the war – but that battle had resulted in the largest death toll of any battle over the entire ten-year span of the War.</p><p> </p><p>And those were only a few of the heaviest mistakes that weighed on his soul.  There were far too many to remember or think of at that moment.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to discuss his failures with this boy – someone who was far too young to understand the gravity and consequences of each failure and what they had meant for Remnant over the years.  Yet, he had the sense that being anything less than honest with Oscar would cause him to close down and turn hostile again, and that was something he couldn’t risk when he needed all the information the boy could provide.</p><p> </p><p>“You… aren’t wrong, Oscar,” Ozpin admitted.  “I have often strayed from the path of peace and harmony as a result of good intentions that turned out horribly wrong.”  He sighed.  “I don’t know everything, and despite my many lives, I cannot see all of the results or consequences of the decisions I make until it is far too late.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s eyes flicked back to meet Ozpin’s.  There was still anger there, and mistrust… but there was a hint of…something more.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>This time, Oscar was sure of it.  Now that his head wasn’t as fogged by pain and confusion as it had been the last two times he’d seen his visitor, he recognized the voice.  There was no mistaking that soft tenor after spending almost a year hearing it inside his head.  The carefully constructed sentences, the Vale accent – distinct after spending so many months with Ruby and Yang and so different from his own Mistrali accent, Blake’s soft Menagerian accent, or Weiss’ sharper and more precise Atlesian accent – there couldn’t be any doubt.  And, of course, there was Long Memory…</p><p> </p><p>No, there was no doubt in his mind that he was indeed looking at Beacon’s Headmaster as he had looked prior to the Fall of Beacon and prior to his soul taking up residence inside Oscar’s head.  He’d heard interviews with Ozpin on the radio back when he’d been on the farm, but he hadn’t recognized his voice when the headmaster had first begun speaking to him because he’d been so overwhelmed with what was happening and convinced he was crazy.  He’d had some vague impressions of what the Headmaster had been like, based only on his voice, but they’d never been more than a sense of intelligence, strength, and kindness.</p><p> </p><p>Once Oz had bonded with him, a lot of those initial impressions had changed – overwhelmed by darker feelings generated by his own personal feelings that he would be lost, <em>erased</em> by Oz’s more dominating, powerful personality – especially after the way Oz had forcefully taken control at Haven.</p><p> </p><p>But now…</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin – because it <em>couldn’t</em> be anyone else – was not what he had expected.  Extremely tall and slender, with a surprisingly youthful face, especially considering the tousled silver hair and brown eyes, he was wearing a black suit and emerald vest, both with bronze buttons, and an emerald turtleneck.  His only ornaments were the silver and purple brooch in the shape of a cross which was pinned to the front of his turtleneck and the small, ornate, shaded glasses perched on the tip of his nose.</p><p> </p><p>But it was the Headmaster’s eyes that caught his attention.  They were warm and gentle, full of sympathy.  When he apologized for upsetting Oscar earlier that day, sincerity and sadness gleamed in them behind those dark shades.  What reason did he have to be sad?</p><p> </p><p>After everything that had happened, he didn’t know what he should be thinking or feeling now that he was face-to-face with Ozpin.  The simple fact that the Headmaster had <em>died</em> at the Fall of Beacon, and yet he was now standing in front of Oscar was enough to convince him that something was drastically different from what it should be.</p><p> </p><p>“That seems to happen a lot,” Oscar muttered in response to the apology.  “You do something with the best of intentions, and it turns out differently – and often worse – than you intended.”  He glanced away from Ozpin, but not before he caught the wizard’s wince out of the corner of his eye.</p><p> </p><p>“You… aren’t wrong, Oscar.  I have often strayed from the path of peace and harmony as a result of good intentions that turned out horribly wrong.”  Ozpin sighed heavily.  “I don’t know everything, and despite my many lives, I cannot see what all of the results and consequences of the decisions I make will be – sometimes until it is far too late.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar glanced back at him.  He… hadn’t expected Ozpin to admit that so freely – at least, not the Ozpin he had first “met” right after they bonded.  It was only recently – after Oz had returned from his self-imposed exile in the back of Oscar’s mind – that the ancient soul had begun being so open with him.</p><p> </p><p>He <em>wanted</em> to stay mad at the Headmaster for dismissing his explanation earlier, but the raw sadness and pain in his eyes made that difficult.  Sharing headspace – or was that soulspace? – with Oz for nearly a year had given him a unique insight in how the Headmaster thought.  Now that he’d had a few months to process Jinn’s story while Oz had been gone, he felt like he understood the old wizard’s reasoning and fears a lot better than he had at first, which made it hard not to sympathize with what he was feeling.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he finally said lowly, hating that he had to admit to understanding that pain and those failures.  After all, he’d failed too – he’d failed to protect the Relic, and he’d failed to sway Ja- the General back from the edge of fear that he’d fallen to on the eve of Salem’s attack…</p><p> </p><p>“I would like to talk to you,” Ozpin said, his voice gentle but still with a hint of melancholy in it.  “But I understand if you’re not feeling up to it right now.”</p><p> </p><p>He still hurt all over – his chest still felt tight and aching with each breath, although it was easier to breathe now than it had been this morning, and he still had the oxygen if he needed it.  The doctor had told him he’d had several cracked and broken ribs, as well as a punctured lung that they’d been able to patch with surgery, so that explained the pain when he breathed.  That wasn’t even mentioning the burn on his chest from Salem’s lightning attack.  It would be easy to just tell the wizard that he didn’t feel like talking… but that would be delaying the inevitable.</p><p> </p><p>If there was anything that Oscar had learned in the past year, there was no point in trying to deny the inevitable, whether it be an impending soul merge with an ancient and powerful warrior-wizard or facing a confrontation with an angry friend or a hated enemy… there was no avoiding it, and sometimes it was better to just face it and put it in the past so that healing could begin.</p><p> </p><p>“Um… sure, I guess,” he said quietly, tensing a little.</p><p> </p><p>“May I sit down?”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nodded silently, watching as Ozpin moved back over to the chair, again placing Long Memory against the armrest of the chair.  Oscar’s gaze followed the cane’s movement, the ache to feel it in his hands rising within him.  He knew Ozpin noticed, but the Headmaster didn’t say anything.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin rested his elbows against the armrests of the chair, pressing his palms together so he could tap his fingertips to his lips.  His brown eyes went distant and unfocused, and the silence lingered, almost to the point of being uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“You said some… interesting… things this morning,” Ozpin finally said.  “Would you be willing to elaborate?”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s gaze dropped into his lap as he worried his hands and picked at his nails – a clear nervous tick.  Ozpin just couldn’t tell if it was because he was lying about everything he’d said, or if he was just nervous in general.  That in itself was interesting because he could usually read people very well.  In some ways, the kid was an open book, but in others he was remarkably self-contained.</p><p> </p><p>“I c-can try, but I still don’t understand a lot of it myself,” the teen admitted finally.  “W-what did you want to know?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like to know more about the attacks you mentioned,” Ozpin replied, “but I understand that you may not trust me yet.  Could we – perhaps – talk about what you said about being my next incarnation?”  He hesitated for a moment and glanced towards the open doorway.  “Did… Salem… tell you that you were next?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”  Oscar’s response was firm even as he raised his eyes to meet Ozpin’s gaze directly.  “<em>You</em> did.  You started speaking in my head, telling me stories, and trying to persuade me to go to Haven.”</p><p> </p><p>There was absolutely no doubt in the boy’s tone at that answer, but Ozpin was still finding it hard to believe him.  After all, he was still <em>alive</em>.  Telepathy was not a Semblance or even a magic that he possessed – at least, his version of it was not what someone who genuinely had a telepathic Semblance would recognize as such.   He could only speak mentally with his partner while he was in the middle of a reincarnation.  Once the merge was complete, however, that ability disappeared until the next period of reincarnation.</p><p> </p><p>He struggled to keep the disbelief off his face, but he had a feeling that Oscar could tell regardless.  The hazel eyes darkened again, and his gaze fell back to his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar… I hope you understand why I’m struggling to believe what you’re saying,” Ozpin finally managed after another awkward silence.  “It goes against all of my experience – several <em>millennia</em> worth – of learning about and adapting to my curse.”</p><p> </p><p>“I get that,” Oscar whispered.  “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you…” he paused, trying to find the right words, not wanting to anger the teen again.  “Is there any proof you can give me of what you’re saying?”</p><p> </p><p>“I –” Oscar hesitated, emotions flickering through his eyes rapidly.  “I’m not sure.”  He bit his lip, clearly thinking hard.  That furrow in his brow that Ozpin had noticed earlier in the day was back.  “I – well… could you tell <em>me</em> something first?”</p><p> </p><p>“That depends,” Ozpin said cautiously.  “What did you want to know?”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s today’s date?”</p><p> </p><p>That was an odd question, but Ozpin couldn’t see anything in it that would give him a reason <em>not</em> to answer.  “It’s October 5<sup>th</sup>.”</p><p> </p><p>“What year?” the follow up question came after only a brief hesitation.  Again, Ozpin couldn’t discern the reason for the question, but he couldn’t see any reason not to answer.  He didn’t know how long Salem had been holding Oscar prisoner, so the boy could have easily lost track of his sense of time.</p><p> </p><p>“78 AW,” Ozpin replied.  “The 39<sup>th</sup> Vytal Festival ended a month ago.”</p><p> </p><p> The furrow in the boy’s brow deepened even further before his face paled dramatically.  “Two years… but <em>how</em>?”  The last part was clearly directed more at himself than Ozpin but what it implied wasn’t good.  Could the boy have been held hostage by Salem for two years?  The doctor had said that his injuries were all fairly recent, but perhaps it was only in the last few days that he’d been being beaten.  Salem was manipulative – she only resorted to force when she didn’t think she could get what she wanted any other way, as he knew from personal experience.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar closed his eyes and leaned back against the head of the bed for a moment before his eyes opened again and met Ozpin’s directly.  “I’m sure this is going to sound crazy, but…” he hesitated again, his eyes revealing an inner conflict.  “I… <em>think</em> I know why the things I am remembering aren’t matching with what you’re saying.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?  I’m listening,” Ozpin wondered what the boy’s theory was.  He had several of his own of course, but he and Glynda had dismissed most of them at this point based on Ozpin’s experience or the unlikeliness of the theory.</p><p> </p><p>“I… <em>think</em>… I’vetravelledbackintime.” </p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Beacon Academy…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Glynda, just the person we were looking for!”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda turned her head to see Oobleck and Port approaching from the cross-hallway to her right.  Oobleck was holding his ever-present cup of coffee, while Port’s arms were folded behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>“How is Professor Ozpin?” Peter asked.   “We didn’t see any updates on his status this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes,” Oobleck nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose.  “We were going to go to the hospital to visit him, but we wanted to make sure that he was up to receiving visitors, especially after taking ill so suddenly yesterday.”  One long finger pushed his glasses back up on his nose.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda frowned.  Where had that assumption come from?  She’d sent out an announcement to the school that the headmaster was fine, at his behalf once she’d alerted him to the fact that rumors were beginning to spread.  “Professor Ozpin is fine.  He went to the hospital in his capacity as a Council member on behalf of an injured child, not because he was ill.”</p><p> </p><p>“A child?” Oobleck asked.  “A Beacon student?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, not a Beacon student.  It seems that he may have a portal Semblance of some kind, and he randomly appeared in Professor Ozpin’s office yesterday.  He was savagely beaten, and Professor Ozpin accompanied him to the hospital to see if he could get some answers and to serve as an adult stand-in until we locate his family.” </p><p> </p><p>“Dreadful!” Oobleck exclaimed.  “Horrifying!”</p><p> </p><p>“Who could do such an atrocious thing to a young man?” Port rumbled angrily, his bushy, grey moustache bristling with his emotion.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know,” Glynda said.  “Professor Ozpin is going to try to find out once he is able to talk about it, but in the meantime, he wanted to make sure that someone was there for the boy, so he didn’t wake up alone.”  Her frown deepened.  “We are trying to keep the incident quiet so that the boy’s attacker doesn’t find him again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Naturally,” Port rumbled.  “Any villain who would attack a child so savagely would show little hesitation in attacking him at a hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>“We can assist with quelling the remaining rumors amongst the student body,” Oobleck said.  “The young man’s safety is paramount of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“I would appreciate it, and I know Professor Ozpin will as well,” Glynda said.  The other two professors nodded and headed off to their self-appointed task, leaving her to handle the next task on her to-do list until the Headmaster returned.  The loyalty and dependability of Beacon’s staff was exactly the sort of thing that she and Ozpin had been working towards over the last two decades.  The fact that they could be relied upon, even though they knew nothing about the real fight going on in the shadows was encouraging and she made a note to tell the headmaster when he returned to campus.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Vale General Hospital…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I… <em>think</em>… I’vetravelledbackintime.” </p><p> </p><p>The teen’s words came out in a rushed, single breath, merging together in a way that took Ozpin several moments to sort out.  When they did, he blinked at the boy, dumbfounded.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asked, flatly, <em>knowing</em> that he sounded utterly disbelieving, but unable to stop himself from voicing the disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s gaze dropped into his lap again, his cheeks turning red – whether from embarrassment or anger, Ozpin couldn’t tell – and he toyed with the hemmed edge of his blanket.  “I think I’ve travelled back in time,” he repeated, more slowly, his eyes not meeting Ozpin’s this time.</p><p> </p><p>The claim was so outrageous, Ozpin almost couldn’t believe that the boy had made it.  How could he possibly expect Ozpin to believe him?  Was this what James had been insinuating during their earlier conversation, about Oscar being planted here to distract him?  If he was spending all of his time trying to debunk Oscar’s story – a big enough lie that it <em>would</em> be hard to disprove, at least in the short-term – he wouldn’t be watching what the boy was doing the rest of the time.</p><p> </p><p>To the rest of Remnant, magic was only something that was seen in fantasy stories – the fact that it still existed, if only in a limited capacity, was beyond the realm of most people’s understanding.  But <em>time travel</em>?  If it were real, how many things could he have changed?  How many things could <em>Salem</em> have changed?  The potential for chaos and disorder… it sent a chill down his spine.</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, even with magic… time travel isn’t possible,” Ozpin began slowly, but Oscar’s gaze came up.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know how else to explain it,” Oscar interrupted, “but it’s the only thing I can think of.  I’m fifteen, and I was born in 66 AW.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s 78 AW, so you would only be twelve…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fifteen,” the boy said stubbornly a hint of anger sparking in his eyes again.  “I <em>know</em> how old I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oscar, you were injured and fevered when you arrived in my office,” Ozpin ventured carefully, not wanting to anger the boy further.  “A hallucination…”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Oscar interrupted again.  “I’ve been thinking about this all day, trying to make sense of it.  The last thing I remember was being in Atlas, as Salem’s prisoner.  I've never been to Vale before - but you said I appeared in your office at Beacon Tower, a building I <em>know </em>was destroyed during the Vytal Festival in 80 AW, and now I'm in Vale General Hospital." He frowned and shook his head. "With everything that was happening, I don't see any way I could have gotten to Vale, and I don't understand why my friends would have brought me <em>here</em> instead of Atlas, or even Mantle.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin still felt skeptical of the claim, but he also couldn’t deny the earnest sincerity in Oscar’s eyes.  “Oscar, I want to believe you, but…” he trailed off, uncertain what more he could say.</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds crazy, I know,” Oscar admitted.  “But I <em>lived</em> through everything – the battle at Haven, Salem’s attack on Atlas...  My memories are too vivid for it to have been a hallucination.  I don’t know <em>how</em> I got pulled back here, I don’t know <em>why</em>, but it’s the only possibility that makes any sense.  If my friends had rescued me and brought me here, they would still <em>be here</em>.  <em>You</em> were <em>in my head</em>, and now you’re here, alive…” he shrugged before he hissed at the pull on his wounds.  “If there’s some other way it could have happened, I would love to know about it because I want to make sure my friends are okay.”</p><p> </p><p>The hazel eyes dropped back to the bedsheets, and Oscar toyed with the edge of it again. Silence stretched between them as the teen waited for Ozpin’s response.  An intangible weight seemed to settle on Oscar’s shoulders, and he stopped toying with the sheet while his left hand moved to absently rub at his bandaged right wrist, but he was the one who finally broke under the pressure of the silence.  “I get it,” he whispered.  “You think I’m crazy.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin resisted the urge to rub away the headache that was forming between his temples.  The boy – Oscar – was so sincere, even if his story was impossible.  Magic was capable of many things, but this?  But at the same time, comforting the boy was just as important as trying to make sense of his story.  “Oscar, no, I don’t.”  He tried to smile, to offer some comfort, but it felt flat, insincere.  “I’ve known many people in my many lives, and you are <em>not</em> crazy.  That much I can tell just by looking at you.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar’s eyes came up again and met Ozpin’s eyes.  Wary caution and emotional hurt were swimming in their depths, and Ozpin had the sense that one wrong word would result in destroying the boy’s self-confidence.  Whatever Salem had done to him, whatever he had been through that had convinced him that he was Ozpin’s next incarnation, it had clearly had an effect on his psyche.</p><p> </p><p>“That being said,” he continued, carefully watching the hurt beginning to build up again.  “I need some time to think about all of this.  I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” he added quickly, “but you have to understand that this goes against all of my… many, <em>many</em> years of experience.”  The last part was said with a bit of wry humor in his voice,  trying to lighten the mood.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Oscar whispered, eyes going back to the blanket.  “No, that makes sense.”  His expression didn’t reflect that he was convinced by what Ozpin was saying, however.  “I mean, you did tell me once that…” he trailed off.  “Never mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did I say?” Ozpin asked, allowing a small smile, and deciding to indulge the boy for the moment.  He was already convinced that he had travelled back through time – and while Ozpin wasn’t as convinced, it wouldn’t hurt to humor him.  “Something profoundly wise and fitting for my role as headmaster of Beacon, I hope?”</p><p> </p><p>The tiniest smile twitched at the corners of Oscar’s mouth.  “Not especially profound, or wise, no.  I thought I was going crazy when you started talking to me.  You said that I was sane, but not necessarily normal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.”  Ozpin considered that.  “Well, normality is a rather subjective metric on its own, wouldn’t you agree?  Especially in a world where magic and Semblances exist.  What is normal for one person may not be normal for another, and…”</p><p> </p><p>He trailed off when Oscar let out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle.  He was pleased to see a little bit of light in the boy’s eyes, after everything that had happened.  It was good to know that whatever he’d been through hadn’t broken his spirit.</p><p> </p><p>Silence settled over them again, but it didn’t feel quite as heavy this time.  Even still, the weight of Oscar’s theory was still there.  Ozpin just wasn’t sure how one would even go about proving that theory.  Magic was one thing, but it was still something that he could explain to someone else if he had to.  But time travel?  How did one explain that to someone else?  How would it even work?  Magic could do many things, but not that.  If it could… well, there were so many things he would go back and change, and he knew Salem would do the same if she found out.</p><p> </p><p>Life after life of mistakes, failure, betrayal, loss, death… if it could all be changed, wiped away…</p><p> </p><p>Could it be the boy’s Semblance?  If so, that would explain both Salem’s interest in him and how he’d appeared so abruptly.  But it would also be one of the most powerful and dangerous Semblances that he’d ever seen in <em>millennia</em>.  Portal and transportation Semblances were rare enough, and even when limited in scope could be outstandingly powerful, but <em>time travel</em>?  It would be the only time he’d ever seen that type of Semblance – and the potential chaos it could cause filled him with dread.</p><p> </p><p>He saw the boy’s gaze drift back over towards Long Memory where it was leaning against the arm of his chair.  He wanted to reach for the cane protectively, but he didn’t want to show weakness or distrust of the boy either, not when they were finally starting to connect, even if it was a surface-level connection where they could have a conversation without Oscar breaking down in panic or rage.  The people around him were always depending on his strength, on the illusion that he had a plan and knew what he was doing.  Maintaining that illusion was second nature now, and his personal feelings about it didn’t matter.</p><p> </p><p>“The Long Memory.”</p><p> </p><p>He saw the boy nod.  If he <em>was</em> a future incarnation would make sense for the boy to feel a connection to the cane, but he couldn’t help the feelings of possessiveness that rose up in him at seeing the interest the boy was showing – especially since he wasn’t entirely convinced of the boy’s story.</p><p> </p><p>************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>Oscar couldn’t stifle the tiny laugh that escaped him when the Headmaster joked about the perception of normality.  It reminded him of the early days, after he’d left his aunt’s farm, but before that day in the snow when all of Oz’s secrets had been torn free and exposed to the team by Jinn after Ruby asked her question.  In those early days, it hadn’t been uncommon for Oz to try to soothe his fears or worries by lightening the mood with a joke or a pleasant anecdote from his past. </p><p> </p><p>That little bit of humor had gone a long way to helping him come to terms with what he was facing with the soul merge, despite his deep-rooted fears that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk about with the old wizard until they were on Monstra.  Knowing more about what was actually going to happen to him had helped him accept it a little more… and then <em>this</em> had happened.</p><p> </p><p>Silence fell between them again.  Oscar watched the Headmaster through his bangs, seeing the expressions crossing the Headmaster’s face – amusement, disbelief, deep contemplation, dread.  Almost against his will, his gaze shifted to where Long Memory was resting against the armrest of the Headmaster’s chair again.  He could feel the ache to have it in his hands, especially now that he’d begun to consider it to be <em>his</em>, what with all the training he’d been doing with it and the battles that had already been fought.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin’s gaze followed his.  “The Long Memory.”   </p><p> </p><p>Oscar nodded.  “I – it’s…”  He wasn’t sure how to explain the ache.  Oz had understood, back in Mistral, when they had been searching the bars for Qrow, since the ache had been coming from him, but would Ozpin?  The Headmaster was already skeptical of his time travel theory – Oscar could see it in his eyes, and he knew that Ozpin had just been humoring him thus far.  For Huntsmen and Huntresses, weapons were a deeply personal item, and letting someone else handle your own weapon was difficult.  He’d seen that when watching Ruby and her friends do maintenance on their gear.  For Oz – who had owned Long Memory for centuries, at least, perhaps longer – it would be even more personal.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it would be better to change topics.  The last thing he wanted was to increase any skepticism Ozpin felt regarding his theory or his sincerity.  If he was right and he really <em>had</em> travelled back in time he would have to convince the Headmaster, as well as the rest of his inner circle, particularly Glynda and Qrow, since he didn’t trust Lionheart or Ironwood – but he couldn’t go around making accusations until he had earned some trust.  But that wouldn’t make the waiting any easier.  If he was right, he had the chance to change things, and the sooner he could get started, the better.  Maybe he could prevent what had happened to Vale, or Atlas, somehow.</p><p> </p><p>“So… what now?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin’s attention refocused on him.  “You need to take some time and heal,” he replied.  “Doctor Ashburn told me that she’ll let you try to heal yourself with aura tomorrow,  but you did sustain some extensive injuries, so even with aura it may take some time before you can be released.”</p><p> </p><p>That made sense to Oscar.  His breathing was easier than it had been that morning, but his chest still ached with each breath – scratch that, his entire <em>body</em> pulsed with a low-level ache.  Salem and Hazel had done a lot of damage, and he knew it would take time to heal, even with aura.  In addition, it wasn’t like he was an expert with his aura yet.</p><p> </p><p>“I need some time to think about everything that you’ve told me,” Ozpin continued.  “Glynda and I may come back tomorrow or in a couple of days to ask some questions about what we’re facing, but we want to give you some time to recover a little more.”  He offered a small smile.  “After that, we’ll have to see where we stand and decide what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nodded.  “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Most likely, an officer from the Vale Police Department will want to talk to you as well,” Ozpin added.  “After the way you appeared in my office, we had to file a police report since we didn’t know who you were or where you had come from or if anyone had reported you missing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great,” Oscar muttered.  “I’m not really sure how I’ll explain all of this, since I can’t mention <em>her</em> or everything that I know is going to happen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I know Doctor Ashburn wants you to rest tonight.  I’ll reach out to the police and let them know you should be up for an interview tomorrow, so you’ll have some time to think about it,” Ozpin offered.  “We definitely can’t mention Salem, so there will need to be a cover story in place.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll think about it,” Oscar promised.  The best way to begin to build trust was to be agreeable, especially since he would eventually have to tell Ozpin about Lionheart and Ironwood – and that would likely stir everything up all over again.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.”  Ozpin reached for Long Memory and used it to lever himself to his feet.  “Then I’ll leave you to get some rest tonight and I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He smiled gently.  “Perhaps I can bring you something to read?”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar couldn’t suppress a smile of his own even though it made the bruises on his face throb.  Books!  He hadn’t had a chance to really read for pleasure since he’d left his aunt’s farm.  After reaching Mistral, a lot of his time had been spent training with RNJR and learning about the soul merge from Ozpin.  He’d been able to read a little, but it hadn’t been his focus, and then they’d gone to Atlas and again, all of his time had been spent in training and trying to build up his stamina especially with Oz gone and unable to help him.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin must have seen his smile and nodded.  “Is there anything in particular you like to read?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fantasy stories,” Oscar admitted without any shame.  “But maybe some history too?”  He’d always enjoyed history, but knowing what he did now about Oz’s reincarnation, he wanted to revisit some of what he knew and see if he could find evidence of Oz and Salem’s influence on the major events of Remnant’s history.  Fantasy stories were always a good escape for him from the hard labor on the farm, even knowing what he did now.</p><p> </p><p>“Certainly,” Ozpin agreed.  “Then I will leave you for the night and see you sometime tomorrow.”  He moved towards the door.  “Thank you, Oscar.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar frowned a little.  He hadn’t done anything yet.  “For what?”</p><p> </p><p>“For being willing to speak to me,” Ozpin replied.  “For bringing your warnings.  Even though I don’t know yet what I should believe, you’ve at least given us a warning that we can use to strengthen the schools’ defenses, and I can have my agents looking for movement on <em>her</em> part – so that is a help of its own.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”  That made sense.  “Um – you’re welcome?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin chuckled a little.  “Get some rest, Oscar.”  With that, the Headmaster was gone, the clicking of Long Memory against the floor fading as he moved away from Oscar’s room.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar sighed and reached for the bed controls.  It was still early, but he was <em>exhausted</em>.  He hadn’t realized that keeping up such a positive front would be so difficult, especially since he still wasn’t sure he could trust Ozpin this time around.  Aura or no, he had a feeling that his recovery was going to <em>suck</em> – and he didn’t have Oz in his head or Qrow, Ruby, or the others to complain to about it or for them to be there to coddle him like they had after Haven.</p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes and lowered the head of the bed enough that he could still breathe without any difficulty, but he was closer to laying down at an angle that would be more conducive to sleeping.  Once he was as comfortable as he could get, he let out a deep sigh despite the ache in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>He missed his friends – and he <em>missed</em> the comforting presence of Oz in his head.  He’d gotten used to the old wizard and even though he’d been upset when the ancient soul had locked himself away, making amends with him had been one of the things that had gotten him through all of the rounds of beatings with Hazel.  Now he was alone in a strange place without anyone he really knew nearby.  Even Ruby and her friends wouldn’t be at Beacon for another year at least, and they wouldn’t know him even if he asked Ozpin to see if they could visit him.</p><p> </p><p>He was well and truly on his own, with no idea what Oz had done to send him back here and no idea what – if anything – he could do to change things before the future he knew arrived.</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Beacon Academy…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Glynda was waiting in the courtyard outside the Tower when he returned from the hospital.  There were a few students milling about, but for the most part they paid him no mind, engaged in other pursuits and entertainment, since they still had one more day to go before classes resumed.  A few greeted him, but the purpose in his stride discouraged casual conversation. He nodded at her and headed directly into the Tower and towards the elevator.  He needed some time to think, and she fell into step with him without a word, ever-present tablet in her hands and The Disciplinarian hanging from its loop on her belt.</p><p> </p><p>Together they made their way up to his office, and Ozpin immediately moved to his chair behind the desk, resting Long Memory against the edge of the desk before leaning back, feeling far wearier than the day’s events could account for.  He actually felt <em>old</em> – the weight of everything that was Oz and his mission from the God of Light bearing down on his shoulders as he brought his hands up to rub along his temples.  The low-level headache he’d had that morning was beginning to fully blossom as he contemplated everything that Oscar had said – and everything that he hadn’t yet said in the face of Ozpin’s disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>He was desperately craving the soothing warmth of a cup of cocoa, but he also didn’t want to move from his seat at the moment as the weight of that conversation crashed down on him.  Everything that it implied…</p><p> </p><p>Quiet footsteps – as quiet as Glynda’s heeled boots could be, at any rate – moved across the floor to his tiny kitchenette.  There was the sound of running water, the <em>clink</em> of the kettle being placed on the burner, the scrape of the lid on the canister which held his cocoa powder… warmth blossomed inside him and he was grateful for Glynda’s understanding of his needs in that moment.</p><p> </p><p>If Oscar was telling the truth – he’d mentioned the year 80 AW – then he was not only looking at Salem making a massive offensive against the Academies and the Tournament, the most open move she had ever made in their shadow war, but he was faced with the pending failure of global communications and his own looming death.</p><p> </p><p>Death didn’t mean the same thing to him that it did to others, of course.  He’d died more times than he could count and in nearly every way that a person could imagine, but each time he came back – changed by the experience and his new partner, yes, but still fundamentally himself, driven by his promise to the God of Light.  That didn’t mean that he <em>enjoyed</em> it or didn’t dread the possibility like every other human on Remnant.  Unlike Salem, he understood death in ways that she couldn’t, but with each death that he suffered, he risked the end of everything that he had built in that incarnation.  There was no knowing how long it would take him to persuade his next partner to take up his divine mission, after all, which gave Salem time to work her will on humanity nearly unopposed, eroding anything he had achieved.</p><p> </p><p>If Oscar was correct, if time travel was really what had happened, then he had less than two years to prepare for what was coming, assuming that the events couldn’t be changed.  Of course, that was more time than he usually got, but that knowledge weighed down on him like a physical burden on his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>More footsteps accompanied by the smell of cocoa before he heard the click of ceramic on the glass top of his desk.</p><p> </p><p>“You look tired.  Are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>A quiet question, one that Glynda had asked him more times in the last two days than she had probably asked in the last year, but one that expressed both concern and care in the modulation of her voice as she spoke the words.</p><p> </p><p>He lowered his hands from his temples and looked up, seeing her standing near the rounded edge of his desk, his mug resting at the precise spot near where his right hand would usually be without him needing to stretch to reach it.  Steam rose invitingly from the white ceramic, the dark brown liquid within frothed just slightly on the surface.  He reached for the mug, wrapping his hands around it, feeling the heat for a moment before he raised it to his lips and took a slow sip.  As he lowered the mug, he let out a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Oz?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m well, Glynda,” he assured her after another long moment to consider his feelings.  “I just have to take some time to consider about everything that Oscar had to say.  There was… a lot that I wasn’t expecting to hear, and it could greatly impact our fight against Salem in ways I can’t predict yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth tightened into a thin line and her eyes flashed behind her glasses at the mention of Salem’s name.  “Can he be trusted?”</p><p> </p><p>That was the question, wasn’t it?  He placed his mug back on the desktop and folded his hands, leaning forward on his elbows.  “I’m still uncertain, but that is one of the many things I need to think on before I can make a decision about what should be done.  I would like to believe him, because if he is telling the truth, it could provide us with an incredible advantage, but…”</p><p> </p><p>He picked up the mug again.  “Some of what he had to say was hard to believe, and he seems sincere, as well as appearing to believe it wholeheartedly, but much of it goes against my own experience.”</p><p> </p><p>Shock flashed across her features for a brief moment.  “I didn’t think there was anything that you hadn’t seen before.”</p><p> </p><p>He scoffed.  “I may be immortal in a sense, but I’m not omniscient, Glynda, and I would never want to be, even if it meant defeating Salem once and for all.”  He’d pretended to be a god once before, after all, and even that had been a burden without powers of omniscience.  No, never again.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you need to talk about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably,” he admitted.  “But I am also quite exhausted after everything that happened today and what I really need is to finish my drink,” he held up the mug she’d prepared for him, “and get some sleep before I start thinking about this again.  It’s been an exceptionally long day, and I’m far too old to have spent a sleepless night in a child’s hospital room,” he added with a touch of amusement to try to lighten the mood.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda nodded.  “Of course.  Do you need me to reschedule any of your appointments?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin sighed and tapped open his terminal, perusing his to-do list and appointment calendar for the next day.  “I don’t believe so, no.  I will need to free up some time in the afternoon to meet with an officer from the VPD so we can speak to Oscar about the person who attacked him.”</p><p> </p><p>One eyebrow rose above the black rim of her glasses.  “You aren’t planning on telling the police about her, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not,” he assured her.  “Oscar is going to have an explanation ready that we can give them to explain how he ended up in my office so that they can close out that case, and we can move forward from there.  I’d like to hear what he comes up with to try to see if I can glean any additional information on his trustworthiness.”  He took another long drink from his mug.  “Thank you for all of the help you’ve provided on this, Glynda.  I appreciate it more than you know.”</p><p> </p><p>A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.  “Oh, I know.  You needn’t worry about thanking me for that.”  She turned and moved back towards the elevator.  “Get some sleep, Oz.  Let me know if you need me to rearrange anything for you tomorrow so you can speak with the boy again.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded in agreement.  “Of course.  Good night, Glynda.”  He watched her go, holding his cocoa in his hand, and once the door closed behind her, he let out another long sigh and turned his chair to look out the window behind his desk.  It was still early, yes, but as he’d told Glynda, he was tired.  Dealing with the ramifications of Oscar’s appearance had tied up all of the previous night and the entire day today.  Even though tomorrow was Sunday, he would have a great deal of work that he needed to get done before he could even consider reaching out to the police department to arrange a meeting, and then actually making the trip out to the hospital again…</p><p> </p><p>He took another long sip of his mug, reveling in the smooth warmth down his throat and the sweetness of the drink.  Oscar represented so many things, it boggled the mind, but he had to make a decision and soon.  The problem was that – much as he had admitted to Oscar – he couldn’t always see the consequences or potential outcomes of his decisions until it was far too late.</p><p> </p><p>He took the final sip from his mug before placing it back on his desk.  To trust or not to trust?  That was the choice that he would have to make.  Absently, his hands came back up to his temples, tracing the place where a crown had once sat, before his eyes landed on the file of essays he’d graded the night before.  “The Indecisive King”, he murmured to himself.  “How ironic.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Ramifications</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since we don't know everything about the first Headmasters of the Academies after they were founded, I've gone ahead and made some original characters, but don't expect to see much of them outside of a few flashbacks here or there.  These are the Headmasters at the time that Ozpin had just taken over at Beacon:</p><p>Shade Academy: Headmaster Theodore - he's described as being older than Oz, so I imagine that he took his position a few years before Ozpin took over at Beacon, since we haven't been introduced to him in the show and I haven't read the novels yet.</p><p>Haven Academy:  Headmistress Sabiline Fuschia - she is the one who was replaced by Lionheart a few years after Ozpin took over at Beacon.  Not a Faunus, but considered to be one of the best Headmasters any of the Academies have had - surpassed only by Ozpin and one or two others in public opinion.</p><p>Atlas Academy: Headmaster Albert Brass - the first one to integrate the Huntsmen and Huntresses with the Atlas military, a trend continued by and more emphasized by James Ironwood.  Ironwood studied under him before enlisting in the Atlas military and becoming part of the Special Operatives unit and eventually rising to the rank of general.</p><p>Beacon Academy:  Headmaster Jasper Moyen - Ozpin's predecessor at Beacon, and the one he studied under, before bonding with Oz during his third year at Beacon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Seven: Ramifications</strong>
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</p><p>
  <em>Headmaster’s Apartment… Beacon Academy…</em>
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</p><p>It had been a broken night of sleep for Ozpin as he dragged himself out of bed before dawn on Sunday morning.  It had taken much longer than he had expected to calm his thoughts enough to be able to sleep.  Even after taking his cocoa down to his apartment and settling into his favorite armchair to finish it, his mind had raced with possible explanations and probabilities to understand Oscar’s theory and try to find out how he could either prove or disprove it.  When – after several hours of brooding over his cocoa – he’d finally managed to calm his thoughts enough that he felt he could get some sleep, he’d found his rest interrupted by dreams that were not quite nightmares and not quite memories.</p><p> </p><p><em>What ifs</em> and thoughts of <em>what could have been</em> as they applied to some of the darker memories of his past lives had manifested, in some cases with potentially better outcomes, but also with even worse, darker outcomes in others.  Memories he tried not to dwell on – though he remembered the events perfectly, of course – surfaced, causing him to shake himself awake just enough to banish them before dropping back into sleep to be confronted with the next one, whether for good or ill.</p><p> </p><p>As a result, by the time he gave up on the idea of getting any further rest, he was still more than a little exhausted.  Between spending all of Friday night sitting at Oscar’s bedside in the hospital and now a night of half-formed nightmares, he was just barely functional.  Hot cocoa - a pot and not just a single cup – would be necessary for him to make it through the day as he tended to his responsibilities.  He was no stranger to burning the candle at both ends, but he usually made sure to get enough sleep to keep himself functioning without risking true physical exhaustion.</p><p> </p><p>He rolled over beneath the blankets, his eyes falling on where Long Memory was propped against the nightstand.  Not for the first time, he found the name that he had given his weapon to be particularly apropos, but especially when events occurred that reminded him so clearly of everything that he had been through since he had made his agreement with the God of Light.  The cane was one of the few things that he’d been able to hang on to throughout all of his lives, even if it had been changed from his original staff.  It was both comforting and a constant reminder of all that he’d experienced – but one that he couldn’t let go of, just as he couldn’t let go of his mission to reunite humanity.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, he managed to get out of bed and get ready for the day.  A hot shower, clean clothing, and a mug of cocoa in hand, he made his way up to his office, where he immediately set to work making a <em>full</em> pot of cocoa before he settled behind his desk and tapped his terminal to life.  He set to work on tasks for the upcoming Council meeting the next Friday – the first of two full meetings that would be held this month.  He started by reviewing pending proposals that had been placed before the Council by various individuals and interest groups, reading each one carefully along with the accompanying documentation.  He made notes of people he wanted to contact to clarify details that he had questions about before the Council meeting so that he could arrange meetings or scroll-calls for later in the week.</p><p> </p><p>Glynda walked in several hours after he’d begun his workday as he was finishing the final proposal – one he was fairly certain he was going to oppose, even if there were a few elements worth considering on their own merits further down the line – her eyebrow arched above the edge of her glasses as she got her first look at him.  He saw her green eyes flick over to the silver teapot of cocoa sitting on his desk, within easy reach.  “You’re here earlier than usual, even for you.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded.  “I woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep.  All of the time I spent dealing with Oscar’s situation yesterday put me a bit behind on Council matters, so I decided to come in and get these proposals reviewed before my first meeting today.”  He closed out the proposal he had been reading, making a final note on his agenda.</p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of Oscar…” Glynda ventured, stepping closer to his desk.  “Is there anything more you can tell me about what he told you last night?  You seemed shaken when you came back from the hospital.”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin sighed and steepled his hands.  “I think I’m closer to coming to an understanding of some of what he said, particularly about his claim of being my next incarnation – but I’m still not fully convinced by what he said.  If he’s telling the truth however… it has the potential to change so much.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda’s lips pressed into a thin line.  “For good, or ill?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin hesitated, wondering how much to tell.  He trusted Glynda absolutely – possibly more than he’d trusted anyone in many, many years. Which was a risk in and of itself, given his previous experiences with trust.  Her loyalty was absolute – but like the rest of his inner circle, she had her own expectations of him as the leader of their brotherhood.  Telling her about where – <em>when</em> – Oscar was from could shatter some of that unshakable faith.  It wouldn’t be the first time that someone he’d viewed as absolutely trustworthy had turned on him after learning that he wasn’t infallible.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You do something with the best of intentions, and it turns out differently – and often worse - than you intended.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Oscar didn’t know just how accurate that statement was. </p><p> </p><p>Keeping the information about Oscar’s theory to himself would have benefits and consequences.  He didn’t want to risk shaking Glynda’s faith in him by speculating on Oscar’s theory of time travel and the fact that he didn’t have an explanation for it, but he also didn’t want to offend her by implying that he didn’t trust her enough to share his theories with her.</p><p> </p><p>How was it that – even though he had taught hundreds of students since taking over the post of Headmaster and seen so many powerful, influential Huntsmen and Huntresses rise from skilled students – one teenager had the potential to shake the foundations of everything he’d been building throughout his many lives?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still uncertain,” he finally prevaricated, although he saw her eyes narrow as she recognized the deflection.  “I don’t want him to feel like my only interest in him is the information he’s brought about the potential attacks on the schools.  If he remains too defensive, it will be harder to get the information we need – but I also want to make sure that Salem cannot touch him again.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda remained quiet for several moments.  “The boy has already earned some of your care and concern, hasn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m concerned over what he represents, and I will not see <em>her</em> harm a child if I can prevent it,” Ozpin agreed.  “Children are innocent and should <em>not</em> be pulled into my war.  It’s bad enough that so many choose to enroll at combat school so young, but...”</p><p> </p><p>“No, not like that,” Glynda disputed.  “I’ve worked with you long enough to know that you have a soft spot for all children, regardless of how they impact our war.  You have the instincts of a father, even if the child isn’t <em>yours</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I –” he couldn’t really refute her statement.  He <em>was</em> – <em>had been</em> – a father.  His daughters – <em>Ozma’s</em> daughters – had been the first victims in this war.  They were one of many reasons he kept fighting – in their memory.  It was why he’d decided in the spur of the moment to grant the bulk of his power to the first Maidens – their unsought, unasked-for kindness to him had inspired him and made him wonder if they were what his daughters could have been, had they grown to adulthood.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar wasn’t one of his daughters obviously, and equally as obvious he wasn’t Ozpin’s son, but at the same time he couldn’t help his innate reaction – forged over millennia – to seeing an injured child and wanting to do nothing but protect him.</p><p> </p><p>He sighed.  “You’re not wrong,” he admitted.  “As I mentioned yesterday, children being in danger is a sensitive topic for me.  But my first priority is still the warnings Oscar brought.  I feel the need to earn his trust before he’ll tell me everything he knows, however, I also need to be sure I can trust him before I act on what he has to say.”  He allowed a wry smile.  “James wasn’t wrong about that much, after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“It isn’t just about trust,” Glynda said quietly.  She fell silent for a moment, her eyes distant as whatever she was thinking ran its course.  “Oz… I don’t know how the others feel about this, but it’s always been obvious to me that you are extremely cautious about who you trust.”  At his flinch, she shook her head.  “It makes sense – Salem, your ability to reincarnate, the Maidens and the magic… these are things that would shake the foundations that Remnant is built on.  The closer you keep your circle, the better for you and for our brotherhood, because there are fewer variables for you to try to account for.  You’re the general on our side of the war, even though it’s a shadow war that most of Remnant will never know about.”</p><p> </p><p>“But…?” he asked, carefully.</p><p> </p><p>“But, as a result you don’t ask for help as often as you should.  I know you have the burden on your shoulders, but you chose all of us for a reason – for more than to just assist in guarding the Relics.  You wanted us to be your sounding boards as well as your lieutenants.  We’re willing to listen if you need us to as well as offer advice… but we can’t give you good advice if we don’t know all the details.”</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t wrong, Ozpin knew.  He had chosen his lieutenants in this incarnation for a reason – because he’d felt he could trust them with the truth – or part of it at least.  But given the number of betrayals he’d experienced over the years, he had never been able to trust <em>anyone</em> with the full truth.  If those he had considered friends and allies would betray him when they only knew part of the truth…</p><p> </p><p>“Talk to me, Oz,” she said softly, stepping forward and resting her palms on the surface of her desk, leaning forward to meet his eyes.  “What did Oscar tell you that disturbed you so much?”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Vale General Hospital… Sunday morning…</em>
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</p><p>Out of all the traits that he could have inherited from Oz during the time they had begun to merge, Oscar found it ironic that it was the incessant need to pace when he was deep in thought that had come through so prominently already.  He’d first noticed it at Brunswick Farms after Oz had locked himself away, and it had only become more pronounced during the time that he had been at Atlas Academy, especially once tensions started to build after the debacle at the election.</p><p> </p><p>He’d never been one to sit idle to begin with, even before bonding with Oz – the life of a farm hand didn’t lend itself to idleness during the daylight hours considering the number of chores he’d had to do since they hadn’t been able to afford extra help.  Sometimes during harvest, they’d been able to get some neighbors to help if they’d had a larger yield than they’d expected, but they’d had a small farm, so most of the time it was just he and his aunt to do all the work.  Oz’s inclination to pace when he was deep in thought or worried about something only contributed to Oscar’s natural resistance where idleness was concerned.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, his current injuries didn’t allow him that level of freedom to move, which had resulted in him feeling twitchy and the confines of his bed contributing to a feeling of mild claustrophobia, like a buzz just under his skin, especially since he still tended to wake before dawn out of habit.  Too many more days of being stuck in bed would drive him to distraction – he was just hoping the doctor would let him start using his aura soon and then he could move around a little more, even if he still had to stay in the hospital for a little longer.</p><p> </p><p>In the meantime, he needed to think up a cover story for his injuries that would be believable, and it needed to be good enough that he could give it to a police officer without arousing suspicions.  He hated lying, so it was important that he tell as much of the truth as he could, while keeping the important parts to himself.  How much could he believably tell and still remain convincing?  Clearly, he couldn’t mention the attacks on Beacon or Haven, or Salem and her invasion of Atlas – he’d only brand himself as a crazy person if he did.</p><p> </p><p>He shifted uncomfortably, wincing again at the pain in his muscles as he moved.  He was in less pain this morning than he had been the day before, but he still hurt all over and finding a comfortable way to sit or lie down was difficult because of the strain on his breathing it caused.  The half-reclined position was the most comfortable, but still not ideal.  For the discomfort alone – and not even touching the pain – he wanted to give Hazel’s name to the authorities.</p><p> </p><p>Although – could he even mention Hazel?  He knew about Hazel’s grudge with Ozpin, of course.  He wasn’t sure exactly when Gretchen’s death had happened, but Oz hadn’t exactly treated it like it was a great secret either, after Haven.  On the one hand, giving Hazel’s name now <em>would</em> be telling the truth, and if the police could catch up with him and arrest him, it would remove him from the board as one of Salem’s pawns, which would only be good in the long run.</p><p> </p><p>But on the other hand…</p><p> </p><p>If he <em>had</em> truly travelled back in time – which Oscar was coming to believe was more and more likely – Hazel hadn’t done anything to him <em>yet</em>.  It was true that arresting him would probably save the lives of many of the Mistral Huntsmen, but they would have difficulty proving that Hazel had been the one to attack Oscar now that he was in Vale.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he could describe Hazel, without actually giving his name?  Make the attack seem like a random mugging?  Oscar thought that he <em>might</em> be able to sell that story, since it would be harder to believably convince anyone that he’d been targeted for a reason when he couldn’t explain what the reason was.  Surely Ozpin would recognize the description of Hazel and understand what Oscar was doing.</p><p> </p><p>Was this what it had been like for Oz?  Constantly jugging various stories and covers in order to keep the secret of Salem’s existence safe?  He’d told Ironwood that Oz had lied to him because he didn’t want the general to lose hope, which Oscar knew to be true… but he’d never really thought about what the burden of so many lies would feel like – and he only had to tell one small one.  Just enough to convince the police that his “attacker” had targeted him randomly.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, that led to the further question of why.  Why him?  For Lien, perhaps?  Oscar had never had much in the way of pocket money, but he <em>had</em> been able to purchase some nice Huntsman gear with money that Qrow had given him at Haven, and he hadn’t used until they’d reached Argus.  He hadn’t felt right about using money that didn’t belong to him until after Oz had disappeared and he’d realized he would need better clothing if they were really going to Atlas.  But his clothing had been good quality – maybe that would be enough to convince the police that he’d been targeted because his attacker thought he must have had more Lien?</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure where his gear was – maybe Ozpin would know?  Or one of the nurses?  He made a mental note to ask the nurse the next time she came in to check on him.  He at least wanted to know where his belt pouches were, since what little Lien he had was there, along with the few small possessions he’d accumulated in Argus and Atlas.  Nothing valuable, of course, or his “attacker” would have taken them, but small things – a tool kit for cleaning the gears on Long Memory, a shell he’d found during the hours he’d gone walkabout to try to figure out what he was going to do after the fight at the Cotta-Arc house, and a few other little trinkets from Atlas.  His scroll had broken when he’d fallen from Atlas after Ja- the General had shot him, so he didn’t have to try to explain why he had a more advanced model than should currently be available.</p><p> </p><p>It was the best story he could come up with, considering the circumstances.  Now he just had to convince <em>himself</em> that it was true, so he could sell it when the time came –and that might be harder than coming up with the story in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Oscar sighed heavily and winced again at the pull on his chest.  The doctor had seemed pleased with his progress earlier that day and had promised that when she came back in to check on him before lunch, he could begin working with his aura.  He would be glad to at least try to heal his black eye.  He was tired of squinting to focus and feeling his face throb every time he blinked.  He’d been tempted to just try to pull up his aura without waiting for the doctor’s go-ahead, but decided that it would be better to wait, since he still didn’t know the full extent of the damage, and the last thing he wanted to do was prolong his recovery and lengthen his stay.  He’d had more practice in generating a defensive aura for the purpose of fighting than in learning to heal with it – an oversight he intended to rectify as soon as he could.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, he would heal enough to be released – but what came after that?  He couldn’t go back to Atlas – the rest of his friends wouldn’t be there, except for maybe Weiss, but his chances of getting in to see her when she wouldn’t even know him were less than zero.  He couldn’t walk up to the front door of Schnee Manor and request to see her by claiming friendship with her.  He wasn’t entirely sure where the rest of RWBY and JNR were at right now, and the same problem of them not knowing him would apply.</p><p> </p><p>He supposed he could go back to the farm – but he didn’t really like that idea, no matter how much he wanted to see his aunt again.  After everything that had happened to him in the past year, knowing that he would once again end up bound to Ozpin if they couldn’t stop the Fall of Beacon, knowing about Salem and the Relics…  he couldn’t just sit back passively for two years and wait for Oz to come back to him again.  It would just put them right back where they had been and make it that much harder to change things – even <em>if</em> he convinced Oz to tell everyone the truth from the beginning.</p><p> </p><p>Assuming that he could convince him that he was telling the truth, would Ozpin be willing to help him get into one of the Vale combat schools?  Being a Huntsman wasn’t something that he’d ever considered before he’d bonded with Oz, but now – it seemed to be the best path to take, especially if he wasn’t able to change anything.  To get the training now, make himself better and stronger so that if – <em>when</em> – he ended up becoming Oz’s partner again, they’d already be further ahead of where they’d been back at Haven.  It would make things easier from a purely physical and combat status at least.</p><p> </p><p>It was something to consider, at any rate, although he knew that it would feel weird to have to go to combat school, since he would be two years older than most of the students, and already have <em>some</em> training, thanks to Oz and his inherited muscle memory.  It would also mean that he might not be able to meet up with team RWBY and team JNR again right away – and he missed his friends already, even though it had been less than a week since he’d seen them.  He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been held by Salem, or how close they had been to staging a rescue for him.</p><p> </p><p>Other than returning to the farm or getting into one of the combat schools, Oscar wasn’t really sure what options might be open to him.  He was from Mistral, after all, not Vale.  Whatever he ended up doing until time caught up to him, he knew it needed to be something that would forward Oz’s mission of peace and harmony.</p><p> </p><p>Oz had been working towards that goal for longer than anyone could comprehend.  How could Oscar do anything less, now that he knew what they faced?</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Atlas Academy… Headmaster’s Office…</em>
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</p><p>Gazing out the window of his office at Atlas Academy always filled James Ironwood with a sense of pride – pride in his Kingdom and its people, pride in his military, pride in his Academy and its Huntsmen and Huntresses.  Atlas was the greatest Kingdom in the world – the most technologically advanced, with the strongest military, and the brightest future.  They had carved out a thriving civilization in the coldest part of Remnant where no one else had dared to tread – and they had succeeded in forging a Kingdom that would endure anything that the Grimm or their Master could throw at them.</p><p> </p><p>Below his window, Atlas gleamed like an array of perfectly faceted jewels – diamonds and sapphires, each one unique in its beauty – hard and unyielding, no matter what challenges or obstacles they faced.  Atlas had risen from the ashes of war stronger than Mantle could have ever dreamed of when the first settlers learned to survive on the frozen tundra of Solitas.  From up here, he had a perfect view of his Kingdom and had long ago resolved that he would do whatever it took to protect it.</p><p> </p><p>The son of a career, high-ranking soldier and the socialite daughter of one of the new Atlesian companies working on integrating Dust into technologies that had risen in the wake of the Great War, he had been drawn to both the military – being raised on stories of the Great War and the fighting prowess of Mantle’s army would do that – and to becoming a Huntsman to protect all of the people of Remnant.  Both careers were honorable and would allow him to do what he wanted most to do with his life.</p><p> </p><p>After long debate and careful consideration, he’d finally decided on being a Huntsman – until word came down from the Council that those who had graduated from the Academy could also join the military and become a member of the newly established Special Operatives branch.  It had seemed like the perfect combination that would allow him to fulfill both of his dreams, so he had dedicated himself to his Huntsman training before enlisting in the military.  Despite his age, he rose quickly through the ranks, boosted by his status as a Special Operative until he reached the rank of General, and head of the military by the time he was thirty-five.</p><p> </p><p>He had never expected to be named the Headmaster of Atlas Academy – he had always planned to devote his life to being both Huntsman and soldier, sworn to defend Atlas from enemies within and outside her borders.  Popular opinion never mattered much to him – his duty came first and foremost in his life.  But when he’d learned that the previous Headmaster – Professor Albert Brass – had floated his name as a possible candidate to replace him after his pending retirement, it had come as no little shock.  But he saw the benefits of such an arrangement immediately.  As general, he had command of the army, but as Headmaster of the Academy, he could ensure that the next generation of Huntsmen and Huntresses were molded into the best fighters possible, the possibility of high rank within the military encouraging them to stay to safeguard Atlas instead of going out to the other Kingdoms.  With the best fighters defending Atlas, there would be less threat from the Grimm, because the people would be comforted knowing that the best of the best were their protectors.</p><p> </p><p>“General Ironwood?”</p><p> </p><p>Ironwood turned away from the window behind his desk, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of his name, his arms folded behind his back as he did so, seeing Winter Schnee standing near the door, arm up in a salute.  He raised his own arm and returned the salute along with a nod, and she moved into a light parade rest stance.  “Winter, good.  Come in.”  She was one of the ones he had high hopes for – one of his best fighters, and absolutely loyal to him.  He was already considering grooming her to be his replacement one day, although that was still some time off, and he had a few other plans for her simmering in the back of his mind.  It was a matter of waiting to see how events played out and finding the role that best suited her skills.</p><p> </p><p>“You requested to see me, sir?” she asked after moving into the room and stopping precisely six steps from the front of his desk.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I did,” he said.  “I have a task for you.  I need you to make a tour of all of our bases in the other Kingdoms and collect any reports they may have on unusual criminal activity.”</p><p> </p><p>“Unusual, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.  I’m not looking for reports on Grimm activity.  I’m interested in the human element – thefts, murders, kidnappings…”</p><p> </p><p>A delicate, barely perceptible frown crossed her face.  “Just for clarification, sir, can’t we just request a secure transfer of the files from each base over the CCTS?” the white-haired Huntress asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like you to collect them in person, Winter,” Ironwood said.  “I have my reasons for wanting physical copies.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes sir.  How far back would you like me to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“At least a year.  Every case you can find, from each base in every other Kingdom.”</p><p> </p><p>Winter snapped off a sharp salute.  “Yes sir.  I’ll have my ship prepared and leave immediately.  I’ll report back here as soon as I return.”</p><p> </p><p>He returned her salute.  “Good.  Make sure you keep the files safe, Winter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, General.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dismissed.”</p><p> </p><p>She turned sharply on her heel and strode out of his office, the doors sliding closed behind her with a quiet <em>hiss</em>, cutting off the sharp staccato of her boots.</p><p> </p><p>Ironwood turned back to the window, looking back down at Atlas as his thoughts resumed their previous course.  His appointment to Headmaster a year after rumor first indicated he was up for consideration had changed everything.  Initially, there had been skepticism and outcry from some of his rivals over the fact that he now held both unelected seats on the Council due to his military rank and appointment as Headmaster.  It had caused enough concern that the Headmasters from the other Academies had met to discuss the situation, even though the matter was really an internal issue for the Kingdom.  It had also led to his first in-person meeting with Ozpin.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Good afternoon, General Ironwood,” the cultured Vale accent coming from the young man standing in the doorway of his new office at Atlas Academy was not unfamiliar, even though he’d only had occasion to speak to Beacon Academy’s Headmaster a few times since he had taken his seat on the Council as the General in charge of Atlas’ military forces.</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“Professor Ozpin,” Ironwood rose from behind his desk and came around to the front of it.  “A pleasure to speak to you, as always.  Please, come in.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>Ozpin entered the room, the door sliding closed behind him as he strode across the stone floor towards the stairs leading up to Ironwood’s desk, his cane clicking firmly with each step.  A curious object for a Huntsman as renowned as Ozpin to have, especially at such a young age.  Ozpin didn’t have any sign of a limp in his stride, so the cane wasn’t a compensation for an injury sustained in the line of duty.  Surely it wouldn’t be his weapon?  A cane would have limited uses on the battlefield, having no range and only being able to serve as a blunt object.</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>Ozpin took Ironwood’s offered hand before shifting his stance, folding his hands over the white dome of the pommel, and resting the cane in front of him.  His brown eyes were warm and friendly.  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“Of course.  I’m honored that you and the other Headmasters are willing to help settle this issue,” Ironwood replied.  “Would you like a seat?”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“I’m fine, but thank you,” Ozpin assured him, one long finger tapping lightly against the handle of his cane as Ironwood returned to his place behind his desk.  “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I’ll get straight to the reason that brings me here.  As a rule, the appointment of the next Headmaster would be an internal matter for Atlas’ Council, but I hope you understand the concerns that we – the rest of the Headmasters – share about your appointment as Headmaster.  You already have heavy responsibilities on your shoulders as the head of the military and your obligations to the Council.  But the role of Headmaster comes with burdens of its own – and considering everything that happened during the war, the Huntsmen and Huntresses are Remnant’s first line of defense against the Grimm.  The future Huntsmen and Huntresses of Atlas need a Headmaster capable of training them to their full potential, for the betterment of all of humanity.  Headmaster Theodore, Headmistress Sabiline, and I are primarily concerned with making sure that Atlas continues the work that our predecessors began to ensure the safety of the Kingdoms and outlying villages – especially considering that Atlas is the newest capital of this Kingdom and not as established as Mantle.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“Of course,” Ironwood assured him.  “The protection of Atlas – of Remnant – has always been my primary goal.  It’s why I attended the Academy myself under Headmaster Brass before enlisting in the military.  My father was a career officer and he instilled in me the importance of protecting those who cannot fight to protect themselves.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“I’m glad to hear that,” Ozpin said, a small smile flicking over his face.  “I just hope that Albert made sure you understand what you’ll be facing as a Headmaster.  Training a Huntsman or Huntress isn’t the same thing as training a soldier, and as Headmaster, you’ll also be in charge of coordinating everything related to your Kingdom’s Huntsmen and Huntresses.  I have no doubt that, should a battle come to Atlas or Mantle you would be able to issue orders to coordinate the defenses – your reputation and successes as Atlas’ General is obvious enough – but molding young minds into being the best they can be and instilling that same desire to protect is a different type of challenge – and a heavy burden to bear.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>Indignation flared for a moment.  Was the other Headmaster insinuating that Ironwood didn’t have the ability to train Huntsmen and Huntresses?  He was about to say something in response but was suddenly struck by the look in Ozpin’s eyes.  The brown irises were warm, yes, but for a moment it seemed as if they flickered with a look of ageless sorrow and pain.  It was a look that shouldn’t be on the face of someone so young, and it made him pause to reconsider what he had been about to say.  “I see your point,” he acknowledged after a moment.  “I’ve trained soldiers, but it is a different mindset.”  He offered a smile.  “I would hope that I could consult with you and the other Headmasters if I have questions or concerns.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>Ozpin’s lips turned up in another smile, the pain and sorrow in his eyes vanishing as if it had never been there.  “Of course.  The goal of the Academies is to help unite humanity through the protection of the people.  That implies cooperation and coordination.  I know I drew on assistance from my predecessor in my first few years as Headmaster.”  He tapped his finger against his cane again a few times.  “I will also admit to another – more personal – concern, and that is the fact that as both General and Headmaster, you will hold two seats on the Atlas Council.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“Why would that be a concern?” Ironwood asked.  “The consolidation of power –”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“- is precisely what the last rulers of the Kingdom wanted to avoid when the monarchies were abolished and the Council system was established,” Ozpin interrupted.  “I may still be young, but I <strong>do</strong> know my history.  The goal of the Vytal Treaty was to ensure that the people were represented, that power would not be invested in one person any longer.  But at the same time, they did not want the ruling of the Kingdom to be bogged down in bureaucracy so that nothing gets done.  A few representatives, elected by the people, was deemed to be the best solution to both problems.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“Couldn’t the Huntsman and the military both be considered part of a Kingdom’s defenses?” Ironwood countered.  “If so, wouldn’t it be better to have a single leader in place to coordinate efforts regarding defense of the Kingdom rather than having both branches operating under conflicting orders from different leaders?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Perhaps, but the founders did intend the Huntsmen and Huntresses to have the right to choose the work they would take on and who they would ally with,” Ozpin pointed out.  “Having a single commander in a time of strife isn’t a bad idea, but during times of peace – which I hope will last much longer now that the Vytal Peace Treaty is in place and designed to help prevent the sort of conflicts that led to the Great War in the first place – it may result in one person having more power than was intended and could lead to more trouble than it would solve on the surface.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“I assure you, Professor, my only goals are the safety and security of Atlas and the rest of Remnant.  My loyalty is to my people – to their protection and well-being.”  He chuckled.  “To be honest, I don’t know how the last monarchs of the Kingdoms did it.  That amount of power and responsibility… it exceeds anything that I will have to handle as General and Headmaster – and I would never want to be in their place.  I’m glad that there are other representatives on the Council to divide the responsibility and workload.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>Some subtle tension that he hadn’t realized had been in Ozpin’s stance and face eased at that, softening his features, and making him seem taller somehow.  “I see.  I’m glad to hear that, and I do understand the position that you’re in.  There was doubt about my ability to serve as Headmaster when I was first appointed as well.  I’m grateful to see that Albert chose someone to succeed him who is both strong and understanding of the weight of responsibility.  Power can be a heady draught, and the position of Headmaster is too important to trust to someone who doesn’t understand the weight of it.”  He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly deep in thought, hand tightening on the handle of his cane before his eyes flicked open behind his shaded lenses and he smiled, this time with genuine warmth.  “I believe that it will be a pleasure to work with you, General.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“Call me James,” Ironwood offered.  “I’m looking forward to working with you as well, Professor.  Your reputation precedes you, and I believe this could be the start of a great friendship.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>“I agree – and you may call me Ozpin,” the other Headmaster stated.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>After that meeting, Ozpin had been the first to speak up in his favor, convinced that Ironwood was capable of juggling the responsibilities of Headmaster along with his existing duties as General and Councilman.  Whatever he’d said had apparently been enough to convince Theodore and Sabiline, as Ozpin had openly thrown his support behind Ironwood.  Having that support from someone who had faced his own share of scorn and skepticism over being appointed to Headmaster at Beacon had meant the world to Ironwood.  Of course, in Ozpin’s case it had been due to his age – or lack thereof – at the time he’d taken the reins at Beacon.</p><p> </p><p>At first, he’d been somewhat surprised when the other two Headmasters backed down after Ozpin publicly put his support behind Ironwood, but he’d chalked it up to Ozpin’s status as a prodigy and the respect the man had engendered since he’d taken up his post.  Ozpin’s support had also gone a long way to soothing the icy demeanors of the other members of the Atlas Council as he played mediator between Ironwood and his rivals while Ironwood worked to prove himself during the first few years of his tenure as Headmaster.  Of course, when – after several years of success and proving to the Council that he was capable of juggling both positions – Ozpin had inducted him into his inner circle, a lot of the questions that he’d had about why the young Headmaster had so much power and respect among the older Headmasters made a great deal more sense.</p><p> </p><p>Learning about Salem, about Oz’s reincarnations, including the fact that in a previous life he had not only <em>established</em> the Huntsman Academies and the Council system, but had been the last King of Vale, who had defeated the alliance of Mantle and Mistral during the Great War in a final decisive battle at Vacuo – had shocked him to his core.  It had also filled him with pride – Ozpin <em>trusted</em> him.  The roles of the Academies and the Headmasters as guardians of the Relics was too important to entrust to just anyone, but Ozpin had seen something of worth in James Ironwood, something worthy enough to back him as Headmaster before he’d been entirely sure that he could be trusted.  Ironwood’s track record since that moment had won Ozpin’s trust and eventually made him a valued part of Ozpin’s inner circle.</p><p> </p><p>Since then, he genuinely believed that he not only had Ozpin’s trust, but his friendship.  It was why he was so cautious when it came to matters involving Ozpin’s war with Salem.  The other Headmasters thought that he was just being paranoid, but Ironwood knew differently.  For all that Ozpin presented the appearance of an academic to the world at large, his eyes were haunted by past traumas, no doubt endured at Salem’s hands.  He’d seen it during that first conversation when the wizard had mentioned the burden that teaching children to become Huntsmen and Huntresses would bring although he hadn’t understood the reasoning behind it at the time.  That sort of trauma didn’t come from nothing, and Ironwood was not going to allow Salem to inflict more trauma on his friend.  He would protect his Kingdom, his friend, and all of Remnant – no matter the cost to himself.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t trust this boy.  Ozpin’s office was one of the most secure locations in Remnant, yet the boy had been able to portal into a secure room.  That level of security breach could mean devastating things for Beacon and Ozpin – and Ozpin cared too much about children to take the threat as seriously as James would if he were in the same position.  The fact that they couldn’t find any record of the boy from any of the combat schools was equally suspicious since the boy also knew about Salem and the Relics – something that no common child from any of the Kingdoms should.</p><p> </p><p>It was why he wanted crime records from the rest of the Atlas military bases – while Salem and her forces might think to alter the digital records since so much of Remnant relied on the CCTS now, he was hoping that she wouldn’t think about the fact that many local villages and even the Kingdoms themselves also kept paper archives in the event that the CCTS was down for maintenance or upgrades – records still needed to be kept for such instances so the reports could be digitized and uploaded once the system came back online.  Once Winter returned with the physical copies, he could compare them to the digitized records and see if there had been any alterations made that could indicate the boy was in league with Salem and her forces.</p><p> </p><p>His cybernetic hand clenched into a fist behind his back.  “I’ll protect you Oz,” he murmured.  “Even from your own kind heart if I must.”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ozpin’s Office… Beacon Tower…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“It’s a rather crazy theory, and I can’t fully explain it,” Ozpin warned, feeling the need to temper any expectations that Glynda may have formed based on the few hints Oscar had already given.  When she nodded, her eyes never leaving his, he took a deep breath.  “Oscar believes that he may have travelled back in time.”</p><p> </p><p>Much as the theory had shocked him the day before, the same shock settled over her features.  “He… what?”</p><p> </p><p>“He believes he may have travelled back in time,” Ozpin repeated.  “I’m not sure exactly how far, but based on what he said, I would guess it’s at least two years, since he claimed to be fifteen years old and born in 66 AW.”</p><p> </p><p>“But…”  It wasn’t often that he caught Glynda at a loss for words.  She had one of the quickest tongues he’d ever seen, and her ability to deliver a scathing dressing down without raising her voice was invaluable to him when dealing with unruly students who wouldn’t respond as well to his gentler approach in matters of discipline.  “Is that even possible? Magic…”</p><p> </p><p>“Until now, I would have said no,” Ozpin admitted.  “Magic can do many things, but time travel is not one of them.  The gods designed our world to have balance – time travel would cause chaos, which is the opposite of what the Brothers sought for humanity.  If it were possible, either Salem or I would have already tried to change things.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then…how?”</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin shook his head.  “I don’t know.  If it is the boy’s Semblance, it would be a frighteningly powerful one, no matter how limited in scope it may be – perhaps the most powerful Semblance I’ve ever seen.”</p><p> </p><p>“That says a lot, coming from you,” Glynda murmured.</p><p> </p><p>Ozpin could see her thoughts racing as her expression flickered several times in quick succession – shock, disbelief, awe, thoughtfulness, and finally to shrewd calculation.  The last both amused him and made him wary.  He’d seen it before, usually when she was attempting to get to the truth surrounding a discipline-related issue amongst the students.  What it could mean in this particular situation, he almost dreaded to find out.</p><p> </p><p>“If he’s really from the future, then he would have knowledge of what is coming,” Glynda said.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, and I fully intend to question him at more length,” Ozpin agreed.  “It would explain what he said yesterday, the anger you saw.  At some point in his future, he and I must have had a disagreement.”  At her skeptical expression, he shook his head.  “Being like-minded doesn’t guarantee instant compatibility, or acceptance,” he reminded her.  “The initial period after I bond with my new partner isn’t easy on anyone, but resentment can also build up over time, especially if we experience a setback.”</p><p> </p><p>Glynda nodded slowly before her expression turned to one of dismay.  “Oz – the boy is only fifteen.  If he’s your next incarnation, then…”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have much time left,” Ozpin finished, understanding where her thoughts had gone.  “The same thought occurred to me last night when I was thinking through everything that Oscar said.”</p><p> </p><p>“But – he’s only a boy.  What happens if you’re not here?”</p><p> </p><p>“The same thing that always happens.  I reincarnate and pick up where I left off,” Ozpin said. </p><p> </p><p>“Oz…”  There was genuine fear and distress in Glynda’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Now that we have the Academies and the Relics are secure in the Vaults, I will be relying on all of you to keep order and maintain the status quo,” Ozpin continued.  “That was one of the purposes behind my decision to establish the Academies after the War.  It may actually be easier this time if Oscar is my next incarnation – he already knows that he’s next, and he knows something of what to expect.”  He sighed.  “The greatest obstacle to overcome will be his age, though.  I’ve never incarnated into a child before, and even knowing what to expect, it will take time to retrain my – Oscar’s – body to peak fighting trim, and it will be many years before Oscar is old enough to gain the degree of respect that I hold now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oz – how are you so calm about this?”  Glynda demanded.  “You’re talking about your impending <em>death</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He gave her a sad smile.  “I’ve died before, Glynda,” he reminded her.  “More times than I care to remember most days.  I don’t fear death anymore.  I may not actively seek it or welcome it, but I don’t fear it – and this time I not only have warning that it’s coming – a chance to prepare – but if Oscar is right, we also have a chance to change it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I – you…”</p><p> </p><p>“For now, I want to keep this between us,” Ozpin said.  “If it becomes necessary, I’ll inform Theodore, Leonardo, James, and Qrow, but I still want to try to verify if it’s even possible for Oscar to have travelled back from the future at all.  The ramifications of what that possibility represents – I can’t even begin to imagine the potential outcomes that may result.”</p><p> </p><p>“O – of course.”</p><p> </p><p>*************************************************************************************</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Vale General Hospital… early afternoon…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oscar looked up as Doctor Ashburn and a nurse entered his room.  “Good afternoon, Oscar,” the doctor said.  “How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>“Better,” Oscar admitted, “but it still hurts to breathe.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not surprising,” the doctor said with a nod.  “Your ribs took a beating – I’m actually rather surprised you didn’t puncture both of your lungs, so many of your ribs were cracked or broken.”  She consulted the monitors surrounding the head of the bed.  “Your aura finally seems to have recovered nicely.  Would you like to try healing yourself?”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Yes,”</em> Oscar said eagerly, before he coughed and had to pull on his oxygen mask for a moment.  The ache in his chest eased a bit and he dropped the mask.</p><p> </p><p>“How much training have you had in aura healing?” Ashburn asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a lot,” Oscar said honestly.  “Most of what I know was focused on maintaining my defensive aura during a fight.  My friends and teachers were careful never to take a fight far enough that I would need to heal.  But I know the technique, I just haven’t had a lot of reason to practice it yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Start small,” the doctor ordered.  “Maybe concentrate on your bruises or black eye first.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nodded and concentrated on the feeling of his aura, remembering everything that Oz and Ren had told him about tapping into the energy of his soul.</p><p> </p><p><em>“It takes intense concentration at first, but in time it will become second nature, allowing you to deflect attacks and gradually heal your wounds.”</em> Ren’s explanation had made sense at the time and had assured him during the months of training at Haven that it wasn’t something he would master overnight.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Aura is a physical manifestation of your soul,”</em> Oz had coached him during more than one individual training session, teaching him to meditate and to tap into his own energy.  <em>“You are a vessel for it – and while the amount that you can tap into at first may be limited, with time and practice you will strengthen your aura, increasing the number of hits you can take before your aura breaks, increasing the speed at which you heal, and enhancing the power you can put behind your actions and blows.  I find it is easiest to think of yourself as a perpetual fountain where the water – in this case, your aura – flows steadily through you, from your head to your feet.  What you want to do is tap into that flow and redirect it towards the area you need to heal.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Keeping those memories in mind, Oscar closed his eyes – wincing a bit at the ache in his black eye and concentrated on the image that Oz had painted for him.  He already knew that his aura was green, so he pictured cool green energy flowing through him from the top of his head down to his feet and then back up to his head.  He concentrated on his eye, imagining the flow pulsing outward in a tiny stream, surrounding his eye, and soothing it in the same way that cool water could ease the pain of a burn, or ice could ease an aching muscle.</p><p> </p><p>It took several seconds before he felt the sensation of his aura pulsing just beneath his skin, but with each pulse the pain around his eye and the rest of his face began to ease.  He kept his attention focused on that sensation until the ache had faded entirely, then he released the tap into his aura and opened his eyes.  There was no more pain in his face, and he could open both eyes fully.</p><p> </p><p>“Excellent!” the doctor said, her gaze moving from his face to the monitors.  “You have a surprising amount of control over your aura for someone of your age – a deft touch if you will.  But your black eye and bruises are gone, and your aura hasn’t depleted too much.  If you think you can continue, then you can pick something else small and work on that.  Don’t try to do a major injury like your ribs or lung without having full aura and either myself or a nurse here to monitor you, since those are more delicate injuries and it could be easy to make it worse if you’re not careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nodded.  He still felt okay, so he figured he could concentrate on the rest of his bruises and make himself a little more comfortable.  “Can I get up and move around some?” he asked.  “I’m starting to feel a little stir crazy.”</p><p> </p><p>Doctor Ashburn glanced at the monitors again.  “I think one more day in bed,” she decided after a moment.  “I’m still concerned about your lung.  The more rest it gets, the better.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar sighed.  “Okay.” Remembering his earlier thought, he looked up at her.  “Do you know what happened to my stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>“We had to cut your coat and the rest of your clothes off of you in order to treat the burn on your chest,” the doctor said apologetically.  “We locked up your belts and pouches and their contents for now to keep them safe, but if you want them back we can bring them to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, please,” Oscar said.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have someone bring them in shortly,” the doctor promised.  “Your lunch should also be in soon, so make sure you eat and don’t overtax your aura.”</p><p> </p><p>Oscar nodded and concentrated on the bruises on his arms and legs next as the doctor left after making a final note on his chart.  At least he was getting some much-needed practice.  If he was going to change things, he needed to continue his training as soon as possible.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had a lot of fun with this chapter, especially coming in the wake of Vol 8.  *heart broken*  Waiting until this fall is going to be torture!  CRWBY why do you do this to us??????</p><p>Writing a scene from Ironwood's perspective was an interesting challenge, especially an Ironwood that is pre-Fall of Beacon.  And not just a scene from his perspective, but a flashback! SAY WHAT?</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story.  All references to RWBY belong to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth.  I promise to put all the characters back in their proper places when I’m done playing with them.</p><p>Beta Reader: TrashyInferno (thanks for all your help on this hon!  I wouldn't be posting it this soon if it weren't for you!)</p><p>I don't have a fixed update schedule for this story as it is still a WIP - but I will update it as I can, since Real Life comes first.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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